Letters From No One
by Dami Enn
Summary: Harry receives a letter from a seven-year-old boy begging him for help fighting the monsters under his bed. The problem? The letter is fifteen years old, and the sender is none other than Draco Malfoy. DH slash, EWE. Will be updated weekly.
1. Monsters Under the Bed

**Warnings: **D/H slash with a side of R/Hr, epilogue non-compliant, mild language and eventual implied sex

**Notes: **This fic will be updated every Friday. Enjoy!

Harry found the letter sitting on his stoop when he got home from work. He almost mistook it for a piece of litter until he noticed his name on the address. The handwriting didn't belong to anyone he knew, and certainly, none of his friends addressed him as "Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived." He was about to toss it and re-check the wards that kept out fan mail when he noticed something else about the handwriting.

It belonged to a child. Harry wondered if he should be embarrassed that a child's handwriting was neater than his own— Robards had spent a good thirty minutes ridiculing him earlier that week after a coworker had misread a spell he'd sent in a memo and had ended up with donkey ears and a terrible bray for the rest of the day.

The stationary was first rate, or had been before its color had faded and its edges wrinkled. The date on the inside confirmed his suspicions. January 11th, 1987. This letter was almost fifteen years old.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_There is a monster living under my bed. My parents tell me I have an "overactive imagination," but I know it's there. It gives me bad dreams at night and makes bad things happen. All of my storybooks say that you are the one to consult. If you can get rid of the monster, I will give you a handsome reward of your choosing. Even my teddy Orion, who's my best friend in the whole wide world._

Harry chuckled at the last bit. Although the most prized possessions he'd had at that age were a pair of dust bunnies, he'd had plenty of "best friends in the whole wide world." Perhaps he shouldn't be smiling. After all, the statement implied this was a lonely child.

He choked as he read the last line. Only after cleaning his glasses and pinching himself hard enough to create two spotty bruises did he believe his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, that the letter actually said what he thought it did.

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

The next line was even more heart-stopping.

_P.S. Please hurry._

~D~H~

Instead of filing paperwork like he was pretending to do, Harry found himself staring at the letter throughout the next day. Where had it come from? Surely Malfoy hadn't sent it himself. Somehow, Harry doubted Malfoy wanted his nemesis to know about his best friend Orion the teddy bear.

Maybe someone had sent it as a prank. But George's pranks were usually much more flashy. Besides, if you were going to send a fake letter from Draco Malfoy, there were much better ways to humiliate him than the plea of a frightened little boy. Like a steamy love letter.

Shaking away his thoughts, Harry shoved the letter into his pocket and pushed his chair back.

"New lead?" Ron asked. They shared an office in the Ministry—or rather, when the Ministry had insisted on giving them private offices in honor of their service and dedication, they'd fused the rooms together and stacked the nameplates on the door.

Harry shook his head. The caseload was slow this week. Or at least, that was how he was justifying his fixation on the mystery of the fifteen-year-old letter. "I got a letter from Malfoy yesterday."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "What did he want?"

"For me to vanish the monster under his bed."

Ron made a sound that was something between a choke and a chuckle. "Have the Dementors made him mental?"

"He didn't go to Azkaban, remember?"

"And whose fault is that?" His tone lost its light-hearted edge at the mention of Malfoy's trial. He still vehemently disagreed with Harry's decision to testify and made a point of bringing it up whenever possible. Harry never bothered arguing; a part of him knew it was because he was afraid Ron might have had a point. "Now what was that about Malfoy's bed?"

"Apparently there's a monster under it."

"You're sure there's not a monster on it?"

Harry shot his friend a scolding smile. "He was seven when he sent it, so I doubt it."

"Speak for yourself. I knew him when he was seven, and he was a right prat." Ron frowned. "But what was he doing writing to you?"

"What, you never wrote any letters to Harry Potter when you were seven?"

Ron scowled. "I asked you to sign my poster. Which, by the way, I never got back."

"You want my signature? Here." Harry tossed him the stack of the paperwork he was working on. "I'm heading out."

"Before you go, could you make sure there aren't any monsters burrowing in my desk drawer?" Ron asked with a smirk.

Harry cuffed his friend on the way out. It was probably a good thing he hadn't gotten around to mentioning Malfoy's best friend in the whole wide world. Best friends could be a pain in the arse.

~D~H~

Twelve hours later, Harry was staring at the doorknob to his office with tired eyes. The doorknob stared back, its engravings twisting into a devious smile embellished with some very shiny, very sharp teeth. _Did my doorknob really just bite me?_

Considering it was five in the morning, Harry had reason to believe he may be dreaming after all. Especially when he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

"You have to kiss it."

"Excuse me?" He whirled around to find, of all people, a soaking wet Draco Malfoy staring at him. The Slytherin had lost his _You're So Far Beneath Me, You're in the Marianas Trench_ glare and replaced it with a variation that just looked bored.

"You have to kiss it for it to let you through," Malfoy repeated. "They've been popping up all over the place this week. At least yours hasn't learned how to talk yet."

It wasn't the only one who was having problems talking. "What are you doing here?" Harry finally managed.

Malfoy seemed insulted—or maybe that was just his natural expression. "I work here." He pointed to his badge as he had his Slytherin crest, which made the badge's lettering even more shocking. "Magical Maintenance."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "At five in the morning?"

"For your information, I volunteered to work the nightshift," Malfoy snapped. He immediately clammed up. "Your finger's bleeding."

Eyeing the doorknob's fangs warily, Harry stuck the finger in his mouth. The doorknob's eyes followed the motion carefully, as if taking notes. "And you want me to kiss the thing?"

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy knelt in front of the door, cupped the doorknob with his hands, and pressed his lips against the cold metal. Harry didn't know which would be worse, Malfoy mocking him for looking away or Malfoy suggesting that he'd secretly enjoyed watching. In the end, it didn't matter because he found he couldn't look away. It was just too bizarre seeing the same lips that had called Hermione a Mudblood locked in an embrace with a talking doorknob.

Harry braced himself for a scathing insult of some sort, but to his surprise, Malfoy merely raised his eyebrows when he noticed Harry staring. "There you go, Potter."

He was going to walk away, Harry realized. What happened to the Malfoy who had lived to get a rise out of Harry? Not that he hadn't succeeded, Harry noted, ignoring a tightening in his pants.

He noticed the face on the doorknob was still there. "Hey!" he called after Malfoy. "How do I get rid of it?"

In response, Malfoy threw him a doorstop.

~D~H~

"You're late," the doorknob informed Harry smugly a week later as he entered his office. Harry swallowed a retort. He'd learned the hard way that this particular doorknob could rival Walburga Black when it felt slighted.

"Is Maintenance any closer to getting rid of them?" he asked Ron, who shook his head.

"Mysteries shut the operation down. Apparently, they set the knobs loose as part of an observational study to help develop a new alarm system. Mental, if you ask me."

"No one ever does," the doorknob said.

"Oh, shut up."

"I'm filing a workplace discrimination complaint," the doorknob informed him.

In response, Ron chucked a paperweight at it, which it promptly caught with its mouth and swallowed. "Hey! That was a present from Percy!"

"You hated that paper weight," Harry reminded him.

"It had sentimental value!"

"You hate Percy," Harry pointed out.

Ron responded by throwing his shoe at the door and let out a surprised squawk when the knob began devouring that too. Harry sighed as his best friend engaged in a rather embarrassing game of tug-of-war with the sentient doorknob. This was what happened when the most serious case to cross their desk all week was a runaway Pygmy Puff that ended up being used as a Quaffle.

Leaving Ron to his folly, he reached in his pocket and pulled out the letter. He'd memorized it long ago, but there was more to learn from the letter than what just the words told him. He knew, for instance, that Malfoy had enjoyed pumpkin juice as a child and that he'd forgotten to dot his i's on the first time around.

Would he have been friends with this Malfoy? Was this where their rivalry had really started, when he'd neglected to answer the letter, then refused to shake Malfoy's hand? Could their lives have been different, if he'd only…

His thoughts were interrupted the sound of a fist slamming down a desk. At first, he worried that he'd have to intervene with Ron but quickly realized he'd wandered into a different department. "…incompetence! Do you know how hard is it to work when it's snowing from the ceiling?"

Harry felt a little sorry for the clerk wearing the stupid orange hat until he saw who the man was yelling at.

"I'm sorry, sir," Malfoy said, probably for the third or fourth time. "My shift ended an hour ago. Perhaps you could contact my replacement?"

"There's this thing called 'overtime' for those of us who can't do their job properly," the clerk sneered. "You Malfoys. Never seen an honest day of work."

Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes, smothering that grey glaze of boredom. "No, sir. You see, I work nights."

The clerk's eyes narrowed. "Not anymore, you won't."

"Is there a problem?" Harry asked loudly, intruding on the scene.

"Mr. Potter!" the clerk squeaked. He cleared his throat and jabbed his finger at Malfoy, which was admittedly less effective in the pair of woolen mittens he was wearing. "This man insists on disrespecting his superiors. I'm just about to have a word with his boss. Perhaps you'd like to back me up?"

"His boss?" Harry asked. "You mean he doesn't work for you?"

The clerk nodded, looking pleased. "We don't hire Death Eaters."

"Then you're not his superior."

"Excuse me?"

"He doesn't work for you. You're not his superior, and he's not a Death Eater. I know, because it's my job to know. Not yours." Harry glanced down at the clerk's name card. "I notice you also mentioned overtime, Mr. Dobson. Make sure Mr. Malfoy gets paid double for his efforts." Then, he walked off, leaving Dobson twitching behind him.

Malfoy followed. Harry was hardly surprised to find the blond glaring at him as soon as they were out of sight. "So this is what the Savior of the World does now? Rescues _Death Eaters_ from angry Eskimo clerks? What next, are you going to check for monsters under my bed?"

Harry halted abruptly. Where had the letter gone? Had Malfoy seen it? He shoved his hand in his pocket, letting out an internal sigh of relief when his fingers closed around it. Malfoy didn't seem to recognize the importance of his words. "What?"

"I know how you Slytherins work," Harry said. "I want a favor."

Malfoy looked briefly surprised. It wasn't common knowledge that Harry had almost been sorted into Slytherin, although he sometimes wondered if he should leek it himself in order to bring men like Dobson down a notch. "What do you want?"

"The doorknob keeps eating our—well, Ron's stuff." Malfoy seemed to find that funny. "I've been using it as a waste basket, but I think it's catching on. Do you think you could sort it out?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "That's not a real favor. That's my job."

"You're going to teach me how to tame it," Harry replied. "That's the favor."

"You really don't know how Slytherins work, Potter."

They turned the corner to find Ron missing both shoes, swearing loudly as the spell he sent at the doorknob rebounded and hit him in the face.

"Maybe we'll do it during your shift tonight," Harry suggested as a thick beard sprung from Ron's chin.

Malfoy merely smirked as the doorknob started chewing on Ron's newly grown facial hair.

~D~H~

Harry found Malfoy tickling the doorknob that night. "How come it doesn't bite your fingers off?"

"There's a reason I got this job, Potter," Malfoy shot back. "Besides, I've been feeding it dog biscuits. And teaching it French swear words. I even gave it a name."

"Orion?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Malfoy froze mid-tickle, leaving his finger perilously close to an unexpected amputation. "No," he said finally. "Why would you guess that?"

"Uh…" Now was the perfect time to tell him about the letter. "Because it's a constellation, isn't it? Like Draco?" Malfoy shuddered "What?"

Whatever it was, Malfoy covered it up with a smirk. "I didn't know you knew how to pronounce my first name."

Harry frowned. "Why shouldn't we call each other by our real names? It'll get confusing after a while if we don't." When Malfoy sent him a questioning glance, Harry clarified, "Because there'll be more than one Malfoy eventually."

Malfoy scoffed. "There's not going to be a Malfoy Jr."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. No way. Was Malfoy…?

"I'm a janitor, Potter," Malfoy continued, petting the doorknob until it purred. "Tell me what respectable pureblood would let their daughter marry a janitor who was too pathetic to even land himself in Azkaban."

"Does it have to be a pureblood?" _Or a daughter?_

"Missing the point, Potter." Malfoy laid back against the wall. "It doesn't matter. It's not like I'd want… What about you, how come there isn't a tribe of freckle-faced Potters?"

"Ginny's engaged to Dean Thomas," Harry replied tersely. Even the tabloids had gotten tired of that question ages ago.

Malfoy smirked. "Jealous?"

"Not really," Harry replied. "Dean's not my type."

The look on Malfoy's face was priceless. "You mean you're… you're…" He shook his head, as if to knock the stunned expression off his face. "You're going to get a lot of interesting letters when that comes out."

Harry shrugged. "I thought it was common knowledge by now. Speaking of interesting letters…" _When you were seven, did you try to bribe me with your teddy bear to check for monsters under your bed? _"Do you ever get any?" he finished lamely.

Malfoy's mouth dropped open. "Is that why you asked me here? So you could interrogate me? Am I a suspect in one of your cases?"

"What? No. Although it would be confidential if you were."

Malfoy folded his arms. "Well, you didn't come here in the middle of the night to talk about a doorknob. So tell me, or I'll teach Scorpius here about cannibalism."

"Scorpius? Is that even a name?"

"Of course it's a name," Malfoy scoffed. "It's been in the family for ages."

Harry said nothing but internally thanked the gods that the name had skipped a generation. Then, he forced himself not to ponder the implications of Malfoy choosing a boy's name for a doorknob he had to regularly make out with. Instead, he answered Malfoy's question. "I've been thinking…" Harry stopped, making him the perfect target for one of Malfoy's jeers about how he'd thought Harry was incapable of thinking. But the blond said nothing. "You offered your hand to me once," Harry continued, "and I've just been thinking, maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to refuse it. I mean, you were an arse, but I didn't really know you, and maybe I shouldn't have been so… blunt about it."

"Yeah, I cried into my pillow for weeks. Honestly, Potter, you think you can save everyone. You could've kissed my arse, and it still would have turned out the way it did. You didn't have the Dark Lord living in your house. You didn't have a family to worry about."

"I had friends," Harry shot back.

Malfoy laughed dryly. "That's the difference between us, then." He stood up. "Dog biscuits, I tell you. That's the trick."

Harry watched him go, desperately wanting to call him back but unable to think of a reason why or a reason why he wanted that in the first place. He still couldn't figure out if Malfoy had changed beyond recognition or if he hadn't changed at all. One thing was for sure, he was still impossible as hell to figure out.

"Nice arse," the doorknob commented as Malfoy walked away.

Harry told himself that he had not been thinking the same thing.

* * *

**Yes, Scorpius is a flirtatious talking doorknob. I told you this story was epilogue non-compliant. This fic will be updated weekly, although I'm open to suggestions as to which day that is. If you have any questions, comments, or criticisms, feel free to shoot me a PM (or review). I appreciate your feedback!**


	2. Fireworks

Susan Bones didn't even look up from her desk as she spoke. "If you didn't get a warrant through the proper channels, you're not going to get one from me, Auror Potter."

Most of the time, her curt dismissal was, well, _warranted_. If she had bothered to look up, she would have noticed that his shirt was untucked, and he'd taken off his badge. "I'm not here for a warrant. I was wondering if you'd be able to trace some mail for me."

Susan shot him a reprimanding glance that she had no doubt inherited from her aunt. "That would require a warrant."

He pulled out the letter. "It's my own mail."

Her quill stilled. "Another stalker?"

"No."

"A threat on your life?"

"No. But it is… unusual."

She arched her eyebrow, the equivalent of: _Unusual how? _He shifted the letter to his other hand, unwilling to give her the complete tale of the time-travelling letter from his arch-nemesis. Even if he didn't rely on her thinking he wasn't off his marbles in order to do his job, he still hadn't forgotten the whispers that came from Hufflepuff his second year. "It's probably just a prank. But it got through my wards, and I wanted to know where it came from."

She studied him for a moment before holding out her hand. "I won't ask to read it."

"You won't?"

"That doesn't mean I won't read it without asking."

He opened his mouth to protest only to find her grinning back at him. "Sorry. Married to a Slytherin." She reconsidered. "Or maybe it's that I'm married to a lawyer."

Between the two, Harry would choose the Slytherin. Not any particular Slytherin, say, a sarcastic janitor. Just in the hypothetical.

After casting a few spells on the envelope, Susan consulted her records. She frowned as she examined the results. "You received this letter recently?"

"A little over a week ago."

"It certainly wasn't written a week ago. It's far too old to track. There is, of course, a return address." Her pointed expression begged for further information. To her credit, she did not vocalize these thoughts.

"Can you tell if it's real?" he asked.

"Aside from interrogating him under Veritaserum, no. A letter of this sort would hardly merit such questioning. I hope you're not using it as a spring board for a separate investigation?"

Harry shook his head. Malfoy had thought the same thing yesterday. Maybe he was taking this too far. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. "Sorry for bothering you."

"Not at all. The last time you received threatening letters, we had to subpoena you to get you to cooperate. This is a step in the right direction."

A thought occurred to him as he reached for the thankfully faceless doorknob. "What happened to my fan mail when I was a kid? Did they throw it all away?"

"The Ministry donated the presents, after screening them for Dark curses, of course. The letters were placed on the monument by your parents' old house." As she spoke, the wrinkles under her eyes seemed to grow, reminding Harry that Susan too had lost a family to the war.

"I heard they're making a statue of your aunt in the Atrium," he said gently. "I think it's a brilliant idea."

The wrinkles disappeared, replaced by soft dimples. "Would you come to the unveiling? It would mean a lot to her—to both of us."

Harry smiled at her. Susan may have had "Magical Law Enforcement" written in her bones, but she had the kindness of a Hufflepuff in her heart.

~D~H~

"_It cloned itself!_" Harry rubbed his eyes as Ron gestured furiously at the doorknob, or rather, the two doorknobs their office door was now sporting. "Why are there_ two _of them?"

"Relax," Harry yawned. "I'll just talk to Malfoy, and…"

"MALFOY?" Ron exploded. "Malfoy's behind this?"

"Suck it, Weasley," the first doorknob drawled in a remarkably accurate Malfoy impression.

"You know you want to," the second one added, winking sexily.

Harry rested his palm against his forehead. "Which one do you want, left or right?"

"What do you mean, which one do I want?" Ron caught his eye. "Oh, no. I am not kissing either of those things!"

"Too bad," the first knob sighed. "It's the only action you'll ever get."

It really was unfortunate, the combination of Ron's complexion and hair. "Hey! I have a wife!" Inspiration dawned on his face, much like it had back in Fourth Year when he had finally realized that Hermione was, indeed, a girl. "I have a wife!" He offered Harry a sympathetic glance. "Sorry, mate, you know I'd do the same for you if it were the other way around."

"He's lying," the first knob said.

Harry silently agreed but didn't hold it against his friend, especially after he spotted their intern over by the coffee machine. "Brian!"

The recent graduate skipped over, balancing three cups of coffee. He'd gotten the position mainly because he had reminded Harry of Colin Creevey—which made him feel a little bad for exploiting the boy.

"Here you go, Auror Potter!" He handed Harry a cup, then Ron. "Auror Weasley."

"Thanks, Brian," Harry said with his best smile. "Would you be able to help us with a kiss today?"

Brian blushed at the presumably Freudian slip. "You mean a case?"

"Nope." Harry nodded his head at the door.

Brian's shoulders sank. Two quick pecks later, the Aurors strode into their office, leaving Brian on his quest to find mouthwash. Harry ripped a page out of his notebook, which he used to scrawl a quick note to Malfoy.

_Scorpius spawned a twin. Help?_

_Harry_

He added a line after the knobs tried to set him up with every random worker that passed by their office.

_P.S. Please hurry._

The irony was not lost on him.

Surprisingly, Malfoy replied within the hour.

_Potter,_

_Do I have to do all the work? You pick out a name for the other one. And if you name it something stupid like James, I might conveniently teach it to regale you with certain love ballads comparing your eyes to a fresh pickled toad and the sort._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_P.S. I'm charging you overtime._

Harry snorted out loud.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Maintenance report," he lied, sort of. He smoothed out a piece of parchment before writing his response.

_Malfoy,_

_Albus Severus is doing fine, thank you very much. How about I thank you for your oh-so-helpful advice with dinner instead? Or rather, my dinner, your breakfast?_

_Harry_

He sent it off quickly to catch Malfoy before the blond fell asleep— and before he could second-guess himself. As he did, something caught his eye.

The signature was identical to the other letter, wording and everything. Sure, _Sincerely_ wasn't the same thing as _Best Wishes_ or god forbid, _Your Friend_, but Harry couldn't help but revel in one simple fact. The letter was real, probably. (He chose to ignore the fact that someone could have easily forged the handwriting.) Malfoy hadn't always hated him.

Maybe he could make him feel that way again.

~D~H~

To his surprise, Malfoy accepted and was waiting for him outside the Ministry at the end of the day. "Still haven't eliminated me as a suspect, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, knowing it was useless to argue. "Al has been trying to hook me up with Terry Boot all day. Scorpius disagrees."

"He's right. Never date someone whose last name is a piece of footwear. Especially if your first name is Harry."

"Scorpius thinks we should date." Harry threw it out there as the useless opinion of a Ministry doorknob. If he was sweating a little, well, it was unusually hot that spring.

And the redness he felt growing on his cheeks as Malfoy started laughing, that was just sunburn. "Merlin. What did Weasley have to say about that?"

"He might be out of St. Mungos by the end of the week," Harry replied as the diner came into view.

Since Malfoy had to report to work within the hour, they wasted no time in ordering. Harry went with breakfast for dinner to humor Malfoy, although he skipped the coffee. "Why did you choose to work in Maintenance?" he asked, munching on a piece of bacon.

Malfoy shot him a lofty glare, although Harry wasn't sure if he was offended by the question or the fact Harry dared address him while chewing. "I hear it's a stepping stone to becoming Minister. Really, Potter, did they even cover interrogation in Auror training?"

"Fine." He set his fork down. "A question for a question. Unless you're afraid of what I'll ask."

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not a Slytherin at heart?"

"The Sorting Hat seriously considered putting me in Slytherin, but I begged it not to. And yes, that counted as a question."

Malfoy snorted. "Well, that answer proved it. Follow-up question: why did you beg it not to put you in Slytherin?"

"You."

He choked on his water. "Me? Seriously, Potter? You're saying if I hadn't pointed out how many freckles Weasley had, or whatever it was I said, the Dark Lord would be ruling Wizarding Britain right now?"

"Sure, Malfoy. I'm surprised no one's recommended you for an Order of Merlin."

The blond scowled. "I should have known you were behind that."

"Behind what?"

"Someone keeps nominating me for an Order of Merlin."

The disgust Malfoy lathered the words in made Harry burst into laughter. Malfoy didn't even bother looking offended, merely flicking a fleck of ketchup off his robes. "Even if it wasn't you, it was your testimony that did it."

Harry held up his hand. "Hey, if I'd known my testimony would get you commendations, I'd never have done it."

He'd meant it as a joke. A splash of panic flickered across Malfoy's face before he resumed his scowl. "Yes, Potter. I enjoy receiving a rejection letter in the mail once a month, telling me how sorry the Ministry is that I wasn't good enough, or _brave _enough for their liking. You're doing me favor. I might not get any mail otherwise."

The bite of egg Harry swallowed felt like a lump in his throat. He needed to get the conversation away from letters. "I could look into it, if you want."

Malfoy sneered. "Aren't Death Eaters usually on the other end of your investigations?"

Harry shrugged. "You're not a Death Eater."

He didn't expect come eye to eye with the skull of Malfoy's Dark Mark. "Put that down! People are staring." Malfoy complied but didn't roll up his sleeve. For the sake of the five-year-old girl sitting at the table across from them, Harry did it for him.

"Hiding behind a layer of cloth, does that make you feel better?" Malfoy hissed. "I am a Death Eater. I did kill people."

His answer struck a chord with Harry. Surely Malfoy didn't still think of himself as a Death Eater? "Okay, my question. Who did you kill?"

Malfoy seemed to regret bringing up the subject. "Really? You couldn't start with something easy, like what's your favorite color, or are you allergic to cats?"

"Gryffindors are cats, so I'd imagine yes."

"Wrong. Shrimp. I'm allergic to shrimp."

If Malfoy hadn't been trying so hard to change the subject, Harry might have laughed and asked how he'd found out that particular fact about himself. As it was, he kept a neutral expression. "I'm not asking what could kill you. I want to know who you killed. I know you didn't kill Dumbledore. I was there. Hiding behind a layer of cloth," he added for emphasis.

Malfoy scowled. "Of course you were there."

Harry winced. And why was that? Hermione always tried to read something deeper into it, but the truth was, he'd only been trying to figure out what Malfoy was up to. She should have let it go when he was proved right. Instead, she insisted he'd taken it too far. The way he saw it, he clearly hadn't tried hard enough, because he still hadn't been able to prevent it.

"To be fair, Dumbledore had me in a body-bind curse," Harry said. Noticing the way Malfoy twitched at the headmaster's name, Harry added, "I don't blame you for that night. It was what Dumbledore wanted."

"But what about the other nights?" Malfoy was staring blankly into the distance. "You watched me fail that night. What about the nights when I succeeded?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't really call it succeeding, but whatever you want to call it, you never came close."

Malfoy shrugged, but his eyes remained alert. "Ask me about my favorite color."

Sometimes, there was just no reasoning with Malfoy. "Why is green your favorite color?"

"It's not," Malfoy replied. "It's more of an—" He squinted, staring directly into Harry's eyes. "Emerald."

If Malfoy had asked him what his favorite color was in that moment, Harry would have said cobweb grey, even though he had hated the color ever since the time Aunt Petunia had dyed Dudley's hand-me-down clothes for him. Instead, Malfoy asked, "What job would you want if you couldn't be an Auror?"

"Seeker for Puddlemere United." Harry saw his opening and repeated the question Malfoy evaded earlier. "Why did you decide to work in Maintenance?"

Malfoy's face didn't change, but he paused for longer than usual. It made Harry even more curious about his answer. "During my sixth year, I realized I was good at fixing things. You know when. After a while, I couldn't stand looking at all those broken things. So I started fixing them." Malfoy's face fell. "Not that it mattered, they all got destroyed when…" He trailed off. Harry wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. The silence, in the end, was more comforting than any words.

Malfoy straightened up. "And I was not going to be first Malfoy in five generations not to work at the Ministry. There you have it. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to keep that job."

Thanking him for the meal, Malfoy hurried off to work. Harry watched him go, noting how the sunset reflected against his white blond hair as he walked. He wondered what Malfoy would think about being a temporary redhead. It didn't suit him. All the same, something tightened in Harry's chest, reminding him of the time he'd actually been attracted to Ginny, albeit mistakenly. Surely, that was a sign.

~D~H~

Although he'd meant to apparate home, Harry found himself staring the house he used to call home, what was left of it. During the day, the Ministry ran tours through the wreck, an activity Harry had approved under the condition that the money generated got donated the War Orphans Foundation. He'd never set foot in the museum. He didn't want to read the plaques marking the places where his parents had fallen.

Instead, he turned to the monument, littered with wilted flowers and Ministry-sponsored post it notes to replace the graffiti. Overrun with slogans like _Harry's our hero! _and floo addresses at which certain shameless witches and wizards could be reached, none of the notes drew Harry's attention. None of them said "Potter Stinks" or "Watch it, Scarhead, you stupid halfblood."

If Draco had ever written to him again, the letter had long since been torn by the wind, spread across the country, and shredded into dust. He hadn't expected to find the mummified remains of later letters. Even if there were a Ministry-approved Harry Potter Fan Mail Archive, Harry doubted he would have found anything.

He set the letter on the ground next to the monument and grabbed one of the bouquets, rearranging the flowers into a wreath that served as a frame for the letter. Shivering, he tried not to remember how many graves he'd decorated with similar arrangements. If he squinted, he could make the letter disappear in the sea of accolades. Apart from its fifteen year detour, it was no different than any other note.

It was still there when he apparated back five minutes later to retrieve it.

~D~H~

After weeks of experiments, Harry had finally achieved his goal.

He had learned how to pull fingerprints off objects like Muggles did. Then, he had enhanced the technique using magic, which had resulted in several explosions and one small house fire. (He'd never liked that section of drywall anyway. He did feel a little bad that it had burned Kreacher's pillowcase garment when the Elf had tried to intervene—although whether that was because he was concerned about Kreacher's wellbeing or because he had been exposed to what lay underneath the garment, Harry wasn't sure.)

Hermione would have been proud of him. She also probably would have invented a better spell in half the time, but still. His invention could pull fingerprints, even ones faded by time, off any surface.

If only he were as motivated by real work as he was by the letters. He'd probably tell Robards about his invention when he was done. It wouldn't help put any suspects away, with Polyjuice Potion as a convenient excuse, but he might get points for creativity.

Heart racing, Harry pulled out the letter and raised his wand. He had made copies in case something went wrong, but those copies wouldn't have the fingerprints on them. Plus he really liked having the original around. He could swear it smelled like Malfoy at times.

He didn't know which was creepier, that he thought that or that he knew what Malfoy smelled like.

A partial print started glowing on the page as he performed the spell. As he lifted a second print off, however, the paper started to smoke uncontrollably. Swearing, he cut off the spell just as the letter burst into flames. A quick _Aguamenti_, followed by a drying spell, rescued most of the letter. The edges were scorched, and some of the ink had started to run, but it was intact.

No way was he trying that again.

He looked at the evidence he had gathered. Two prints. Two prints from separate hands. Using Malfoy's napkin from the restaurant, Harry matched the partial print to Malfoy. That confirmed it. The handwriting could have been forged, but the fingerprint was unmistakably real.

The second fingerprint was a mystery. It wasn't his own (that would have been a giant waste of time). It wasn't Malfoy's either.

At the very least, he knew his sender had a pinky finger. That ruled out the ghost of Peter Pettigrew.

Some Auror he was.

~D~H~

"There's an opening for a day job in Maintenance," Harry told Malfoy one day. Their breakfast-dinners had turned into a weekly event. Malfoy had been too proud to ask Harry for another invitation, and Harry had been too worried Malfoy would wonder why the Boy Who Lived wanted to dine with him. Somehow, it had happened anyway, enough that they gave it an official time slot in their weekly schedules. "You should think about applying."

Malfoy merely laughed.

"What? You're more than qualified. You got rid of those blasted doorknobs. You never told me how, by the way."

"Or why," Malfoy added helpfully.

Harry waited, but the blond refused to elaborate. "Well, regardless, you should apply."

"Why don't you apply, Potter?" he suggested snidely.

"You don't have to stay in Maintenance if you don't want to," Harry said. "There are some positions in Magical Game and Sports, and I heard a rumor that International Magic Cooperation is looking for a…"

"Ex-Death Eater whose specialty is talking to doorknobs?" Malfoy interrupted. Taking Harry's silence as a no, he sat back in his chair. "I thought not."

"What about the private market?" Harry pressed. "You were always good at potions back at school. What were you telling me about last week, how you've nearly perfected Alihotsy Draught?"

"Do you even know what that is?"

"It causes hysteria."

Malfoy took a long sip of his drink. "I'm impressed you remember."

To be honest, Harry was surprised himself. Potions had always tended to go in one ear and other the other. There was something about Malfoy's voice that made him want to remember every word.

"But do you really suppose there's a huge market for that?" Malfoy continued. "I seem to produce that effect without having to sell a potion for it."

Harry shook his head. "I don't get you. You still flaunt your hundred gallon cashmere sweater—"

"Made in Luxembourg," Malfoy interjected.

"Case in point— in everyone's face, but the way you talk about yourself…" Harry trailed off, not wanting to insult the blond. "Not everyone sees you the way you think they do."

Malfoy looked a bit like Hermione with his 'It's-Obvious-Isn't-It?' expression. "Why do you think I buy all those things for myself in the first place? You can walk into work with your hair looking like something nested in it and died there, and people would still respect you. Of course, I don't see why it's such a big deal to run a brush through it once in a century, but it's not like anyone expects anything different from you. I, on the other hand, have to have standards, or I have nothing."

Harry frowned. "That's crap. You have yourself. You're worth just as much as anyone else."

Malfoy let out a dry laugh. "You forget, I don't believe in equality. Regardless of which side of the spectrum I fall on, the war hasn't changed that. Some people are better than others. Wizards are better than Muggles. Purebloods are better than Mu—ggleborns."

Harry closed his eyes. He hadn't missed the slight stutter over the last word. "So you're saying that people respect me more than you, but that you're still better than me because purebloods are better than halfbloods?"

"No, I said purebloods are better than halfbloods in the abstract," Malfoy corrected. "Any given halfblood can be better than any given pureblood. But, other factors aside, it's better to be born a pureblood. You're more likely to be rich and have connections, and you have an eleven year head start of magical experience."

It was useless arguing with Malfoy on the subject, so Harry chose to focus on one specific portion of his argument. "Basically, you just said that I'm better than you."

"I admit you may have a few redeeming qualities," Malfoy relented.

"Like?" _Real subtle._

"Your eyes."

Harry had to cough to disguise the smile that leapt to his face. "What?"

"I said, you're wise." Malfoy cleared his throat. "I mean, I think you're a complete idiot, but the fact that you're still alive suggests otherwise. And just by standing next to me, you make my hair look good."

Harry rolled his eyes at the last part. _Like you need me to make your hair look good._

"But if you're looking for compliments, all you have to do is open a newspaper." Malfoy preened himself, flicking a stray strand of hair away. "I want to hear good things about me."

Harry chuckled, mostly as a dilatory tactic. He could tell Malfoy a million good things about himself, but he sincerely doubted Malfoy wanted to hear most of them. "Well," he began eloquently, "you always have an impeccable sense of fashion."

Malfoy furrowed his brow in mock offense. "Coming from you, that's practically an insult."

"And there's your charming personality," Harry declared. "You put a lot of thought into your insults. And…" His eyes flickered down to his hand and found it all the way across the table, snuggled in Malfoy's grip like a puzzle piece. It must have gravitated there sometime during their conversation. "You have soft skin."

Malfoy noticed too. "So do you," he returned softly.

Harry leaned closer.

A firework exploded across the restaurant. Both of them started, accidently banging their foreheads against each other. Rubbing his scar, Harry noticed George Weasley handing out flyers at the other end of the diner, a halo of sparks circling his head.

"I should go," Malfoy said abruptly.

He was practically out the door before Harry could reply, "Me too." It was just as well, since George had spotted him and was racing over with a prank buzzer in hand.

"Wotcha, Harry!"

"George. What are you up to?" Harry hoped he didn't sound as unenthusiastic as he felt. He still couldn't have a decent conversation with Malfoy without fireworks exploding in some form or another. Before the distraction, he had sworn Malfoy was leaning in for a kiss. For Merlin's sake, the blond had practically begged him to flirt with him.

Or had he? Maybe it was only wishful thinking. Just like he'd wished for Malfoy to have miraculously abandoned his beliefs overnight. But no, Malfoy still had the Dark Mark etched on his arm. He still believed purebloods were the epoch of society. And Harry still, for some unthinkable reason, was fascinated with him.

Or, at least, that was the word he was choosing to use.

Harry was drawn out of his thoughts as George raised his voice. "Who were you eating with?" The teasing glow in the prankster's eyes suggested he had ended his explanation of his latest product some time ago and had been enjoying watching Harry drown in senseless contemplation.

Harry sighed. "No one."

* * *

**Thanks to reviewers, lovebites123 and misguided gh0st, and everyone who favorited/followed the story! If you can spare a minute, I'd really love your feedback. Next Friday, Harry gets a couple of surprises, Draco does some thrilling heroics, and we get to meet Susan's mysterious Slytherin lawyer husband.**


	3. Objects Like Irons

**If I had timed this better, I would be posting the Fireworks chapter this week in honor of the Fourth of the July. Ah well. Here's an early update to celebrate/enjoy even if you don't celebrate!**

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_Can I call you Potty? I am writing to remind you about my previous letter concerning the monster haunting my bed. It has gotten worse. I wet myself last night. Mother didn't believe me when I told her that Dobby did it. Stupid House Elf doesn't know how to act. I flushed his head down the toilet a few times in your name. (Potty—get it?) Then I ironed his ears and made him eat fireworms._

_I await your reply._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Goosebumps spiked down Harry's neck. He had seen another Auror's skin turned inside out. He had seen a little girl being strangled by her own arm. (The girl had lived but could now only speak in sign language, relying on arm that had crippled her.)

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't seen this that put it on par with those cases. Harry often forgot that Malfoy Manor hadn't just been the spot where Dobby had died; it had been the place he had lived for years in servitude. When he did remember, in his mind, it had been Lucius holding the cane, not his wife, and not his son.

Harry didn't know what bothered him more: that Dobby had been abused by a seven-year-old boy, or by Malfoy. The juvenile humor was almost endearing now. To think, as a student, he had been so bothered by it and not the less visible crimes. Reading this letter, he could see why Hermione hadn't given a second thought to rejecting the Wizengamot's offer to make her a chairman. Dudley had never ironed his ears, but he had given him swirlies and made him eat worms.

But he was on Christmas card terms with Dudley now. He didn't know what call this strange, one-sided correspondence with young Malfoy. One thing was certain: someone was purposely sending these letters. One letter could have theoretically gotten lost in the mail. Not two.

Before he left his porch, Harry set up alarm system to alert him whenever an owl got through his wards. Next time, he would be ready for the sender. If not for the contents of the letter.

~D~H~

As soon as Harry stepped into work, Ron assaulted him with a bear hug. "Big news, Harry!"

"I got another letter from Malfoy," Harry blurted.

It took a second for Ron to realize what Harry was talking about. "What, does he have monsters in his sock drawer now?"

"He called me Potty."

"Well, that's a relief. Do you think we could get him on defamation charges?"

"I think the Statute of Limitations has passed about five times over," Harry said, to Ron's dismay. "You said you had big news?"

"Oh." Ron scratched his head. "Wanna come over tonight? Hermione's cooking meat loaf."

"Meat loaf? That's your big news?" He understood that Ron appreciated food, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Great!" Ron replied with a grin. "I'll tell her you're coming." He skipped out of the office, whistling a Celestina Warbeck tune.

"Can't you just owl her?" Harry called after him.

"It'll be a surprise visit!"

"But you saw her five minutes ago."

"Seven and a half!" Ron corrected, disappearing around the corner.

Harry shook his head. Maybe love was overrated after all.

~D~H~

"So," Harry sounded as he chewed his meat loaf. "Ron mentioned you have some big news?"

Hermione nodded and looked to Ron, who nodded back at her. Harry wondered if he'd ever be able to have silent conversations like these with Malfoy— with someone he loved. "I'm pregnant," Hermione announced finally. "We're going to have a baby."

A grin spread across Harry's face. "Congratulations!" Harry nodded at Ron. "Dad."

Ron groaned, then plastered a smile on his face when Hermione glared at him. "We'd like you to be the godfather. If you want to, that is."

"Me?" It shouldn't have come as a surprise, given how close they were. All the same, Harry was incredibly touched and thanked Merlin that Ron had made Hermione cry on the same day Quirrell had let that troll into Hogwarts on Halloween years ago.

"Well, Teddy's turned out alright, hasn't he? Plus there's the part where I have five brothers and choosing between them would mean all-out war." His face sank when he realized what he'd just said. "Four brothers." Hermione placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. Family was one case where the law of diminishing returns did not apply; the loss of one was equally painful no matter how many others you had.

Harry tried to lighten the mood. "Picking out the name is one of the godfatherly duties, right? You know what's a great name?" He meant to say, "Harry." Honest to god. What came out instead was "Draco Malfoy."

Both Ron and Hermione looked horrified. Panicking, Harry throttled ahead with maximum damage control. "Because it's ironic! It would send a real message, having a baby named Malfoy Weasley." A message, granted, that said 'flush my head down the toilet, by all means, my parents hate me.' Appropriately, neither Ron nor Hermione seemed convinced, so Harry threw in one last pitch. "And it works for both genders!"

"I'm trying to think of a worse name for our baby," Ron said at last. "It's not coming."

"You could name it after Snape," Harry suggested. Ron made a face. "Hey! I named our doorknob after Snape!"

"And you wonder why it hated us?"

Hermione frowned. "Harry, that's the third time you've mentioned Malfoy today."

"Fourth," Ron corrected. "There was the letter too."

"What letter?" Hermione asked.

"No letter," Harry said quickly. "Oh, look at the time, better be off!"

Hermione stepped in front of him. Normally, Harry would have made a go for it anyway, but Hermione was a force to be reckoned with when she wasn't pregnant. Who knew how the hormones would affect her? "What letter, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "You'd better sit down."

After he summarized two letters he'd received, Hermione put on her signature thinking expression. "Hmmm." She studied him carefully, then smiled. "I think I know what's going on."

Harry's eyes widened. Oh, no. So much for being allowed to be godfather.

"It's your hero complex!" she declared. Harry let out the breath he was holding. "These letters have made you see a more vulnerable side of Malfoy, and it's your instinct to reach out and try to save him." She looked at him sympathetically. "But he's not the same person. He doesn't want your saving, and you're having a hard time accepting that."

"Exactly!" Harry agreed, glad she hadn't seen through him. Except for the part where everything she'd just said sounded perfectly accurate. "Wait, what?"

Ron patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll remind you what a git he is whenever you feel the urge to act."

"Uh…"

"Although there's still the matter of why you're receiving these letters in the first place," Hermione continued. "Two letters don't just get lost in the mail for fifteen years, then delivered within a few weeks of each other. Did you check them for curses?"

"No," Harry said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course I did. I am an Auror, you know."

Hermione gave him a stern look. "Have you talked to Malfoy about this?"

"Yes. No. Not about this, but I did talk to him." _And almost a little more than talk._

"And what did he say?"

"Er…" They had talked about a lot of things, but not all of them were things he felt comfortable sharing with Ron and Hermione. "Well, he works the night shifts in Maintenance. He thinks my hair looks like something died in it. He's actually a lot nicer than he used to be."

Ron frowned. "Why, what did he used to say about your hair?"

"I think it's good you're putting the past behind you," Hermione said, ignoring her husband. "That rivalry you had was never healthy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. He wasn't too sure what he had going now was that healthy either, but he sure wasn't going to tell her that. He was glad he hadn't brought the letters with him for her to read; he wasn't sure she would feel the same way about putting the rivalry to rest if she knew how Malfoy had treated his Elves. Speaking of which… "Hey, Hermione, are there any good grassroots House Elf organizations I could join?"

Hermione looked down at him through her water glass. "If you're going to change the subject, you could compliment my meatloaf instead."

"No, actually, a few… _things_ I've read lately have made me want to be more active in my support."

Hermione folded her arms. "Have you freed Kreacher?"

His eyes drifted down to his napkin. "Right. Kreacher." He cleared his throat, then stuffed another bite of meatloaf into his mouth. "How's that for a baby name?"

~D~H~

Hermione was right. He did need to start taking the letter investigation more seriously. To that end, he started going through the fingerprint archives at work. Even though the Aurors rarely used them in cases, they still had to record the fingerprints of anyone they arrested in accordance with British law.

Having little to go on, he first combed through the files of former Death Eaters. As much as he wanted to know the answer, he was glad when none of them matched.

"Are you going through all of those by hand?"

Harry looked up to find Hermione standing in the doorway. "I'm trying to find a match."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You won't be able to use that in a court of law."

"I know. It's more of a personal matter."

"The letters?"

Harry nodded. Hermione held out her hand. Reluctantly, Harry handed her the picture of the fingerprint. With a flick of her wand, Hermione levitated the paper across the room, where all of the filing cabinets bounced open. The files danced amongst themselves, comparing themselves to the print before retreating back into their drawers. One file in the very last drawer hovered beside the print. A perfect match.

Harry grinned sheepishly as Hermione handed him the file. "Thanks, Hermione."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were intentionally dragging this out." She glanced over his shoulder at the name of the file. "Blaise Zabini. Hmm. I wouldn't have expected it to be him."

"Well, he had to do something wrong if his prints are here," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head. "Every Ministry employee has to submit a sample."

"Zabini works for the Ministry?" Harry really needed to get to know his own workplace better. This was getting embarrassing. "Is he in Maintenance?"

Hermione gave him an odd look. "No, he's one of our star attorneys. Civil law, not criminal. Why did you think he worked in Maintenance? Because Malfoy does?"

"Uh… no." Harry quickly switched subjects before she could accuse him of stereotyping. "What are you doing at the Ministry so late?"

Seeing through his pale attempts to dodge her questions, Hermione punished him by going into great detail about the new House Elf legislation that was going in effect at midnight, which he should be particularly interested in now that he had upgraded to being a gold class member of S.P.E.W. Thankfully, five minutes into her explanation, a memo called her away, leaving Harry to ponder the evidence in front of him.

Blaise Zabini. Harry couldn't remember a single conversation he'd had with the Slytherin. He knew Zabini had married Susan Bones, a match no one had seen coming. He also knew never to mention Zabini's mother if he wanted to leave the room with his limbs intact.

What possible motive did Zabini have for sending the letters? If, indeed, he had sent them?

Down the hallway, Harry heard a familiar shriek. Throwing the file in the air, he bolted down the hallway. "Hermione!"

He found her breathing heavily but unharmed. As he scanned the hallway for intruders, he came face to face with Malfoy, standing directly across from Hermione.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Before he had time to consider any ugly accusations, Hermione shouted for him to stop. "It's okay! I'm fine." It was then that Harry noticed the large dog lying unconscious at Malfoy's feet, drool dangling between its sharp fangs.

"A wild dog jumped out of one of the paintings," Malfoy explained, nodding his head at the painting behind him, now sporting a giant hole in the middle. "I took care of it."

"Oh," Harry sounded, relieved. "Out of the painting?"

Hermione jumped on the explanation. "It's impossible to convert to ink into living matter. Someone must have inserted a real dog into the painting. Probably as a protest against the new regulations concerning equal hiring practices for centaurs. Did you know 99% of Ministry workers are completely human?"

"More importantly," Malfoy interjected, staring at the sizzling painting, "am I going to get fined for defacing Ministry property?"

"Of course not," Hermione said before Harry could say the same. "You were protecting me."

"I was protecting myself," Malfoy insisted.

"Either way, impressive reflexes," Harry said, eyeing the dog's fangs. "Must have been a pretty powerful stunning spell."

Malfoy scowled. Judging by the amused glance Hermione was giving him, Harry got the feeling he was missing something. "What?"

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, whose scowl deepened. Reluctantly, he explained, "I hit it in the head with my toolbox."

Harry burst out laughing, then covered it with a cough. "Well… that's… thinking outside of the box."

"With the box," Malfoy corrected. He sounded perfectly serious, but Harry could tell he was trying not to smirk. Then again, who knew what tools lay inside the box? There could be torture devices. In the hands of Malfoy, innocent objects like irons could be called that.

Harry forced himself to push away these thoughts. That was the Malfoy of fifteen years ago. This Malfoy didn't use his hammer on his House Elves. Put it that way, it sounded rather perverted.

Malfoy was speaking again. "Now, if you don't mind, there's quicksand in the Goblin Liaison Office I have to attend to."

"Need any help?" Harry blurted.

Malfoy glared at him. "Do you need any help interrogating suspects?"

Harry internally winced. "Er, no. Sorry. It's just… quicksand. Wow." It was a wonder reporters could come up with good taglines for any of his interviews.

Malfoy scoffed. "Oh, please. They do it on purpose." He strode away before Harry could say anything else stupid.

Hermione watched him go. "You're right. He is different."

Harry hardly heard her. "Do you think they really do it on purpose?"

"I doubt it. It probably makes him feel better about his job to think so."

Harry didn't know which answer he wanted to believe. One made him angry. The other, sad. Saying good-bye, he retrieved Zabini's file and headed for the floo, eager to collapse on his couch and drift off to sleep imagining what Malfoy must have looked like, swinging his toolbox at the dog.

As he passed through the Auror department, Auror Gregson jumped out at him. "That was quick. You really are married to your job, just like they say."

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?" Gregson had a reputation for being carelessly blunt with his words. Often, during interrogations, Harry would find himself siding with the suspect.

"You heard the latest dispatch, didn't you?" Gregson leaned forward. "The victim has the letter R carved on her chest. But I'm sure you'll figure it out in no time, eh?"

"Actually," Harry said, thinking fast. He'd had enough mysterious letters these past months. "I'm investigating… the vandalism."

Gregson frowned. "Vandalism?"

"Yeah, someone defaced Minstry property down in Magical Law Enforcement."

Malfoy was going to kill him.

~D~H~

"For the record, I am exercising my legal right for a lawyer," Zabini said the next day as he pulled out his notepad.

Harry sat across from him. "This isn't an interrogation. I just have a few questions."

"Do you know the definition of interrogation?"

They were sitting at a booth in a crowded café. Harry had learned his lesson from Fifth Year about scheduling private meetings in public places. "This isn't for a case. It's a personal matter."

"In that case, I charge 20 galleons an hour."

Harry raised his eyebrows. What else had he expected from a Slytherin? "It's about Malfoy."

"Make that 30. He's high maintenance."

"Magical Maintenance, actually." Harry struggled not to wince under Zabini's incredulous stare. For the amount of time he'd spent with the Weasley twins, he really needed to work on his sense of humor.

Finally, the lawyer a long sip of coffee. "What has Malfoy been accused of now?"

"Nothing. Well, there is that vandalism investigation, but that's not… Look, this isn't about a case. It's personal."

Zabini studied Harry carefully. "I won't break client-attorney privilege, if that's what you're looking for."

"You're Malfoy's lawyer? I thought you practiced civil law."

"I dabble. What's this all about?"

Harry showed him the letter. "Have you seen this letter before?"

Zabini's lips curled into a smirk as he read it. "It's criminal offense to read someone else's mail."

"Not if Malfoy showed it to you before he sent it."

"Why would he do that?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry showed Zabini the second letter. "What about this one?"

Displaying no emotion, Zabini examined the letter. "How many of these are there?" he asked finally.

"I think you know the answer to that question."

"Why do you think that?"

Harry tolerated Magical Law Enforcement, mainly because Hermione worked there, but times like these made him remember why he hated lawyers almost as much as criminals at times. "Because I think you might have sent them."

"Think? Might?" Zabini laughed. "That won't hold up in court."

"I don't think my mail is enough to warrant a court date," Harry said. If Zabini wanted to settle this the Slytherin way, he shouldn't have gone against the person who defeated the most powerful Slytherin of the century. "A case of identity fraud, however…"

"What are you implying?"

"Your fingerprints are on the letter. If you didn't put them there, then someone out there must be using Polyjuice to impersonate you and damage your reputation. Unchecked, who knows what they'll do next?"

Zabini stirred his coffee slowly. "I never said they weren't my fingerprints."

"You never said they were either."

"I like keeping my options open." Zabini folded his arms. "How about we make a deal? I agree to answer one of your questions if you do the same for me."

Harry wasn't about to be pulled into one of Zabini's traps. "How will I know you're being honest?"

Zabini laid a piece of parchment on the table. "Veritas paper. A relatively new invention. It's supposed to prevent false confessions."

Harry nodded. The Auror department had tested their first batch a month ago and thus far, the results had been promising. Zabini would be forced to tell the truth. Now Harry only had to decide if the truth was worth whatever Zabini planned to unleash on him. At times like these, being a prominent figure in the public's eye had its advantages. Everyone knew almost everything about him anyway; at worst, anything Zabini uncovered would end up in a tabloid surrounded by articles about hair care and a ranked list of eligible bachelors.

He decided to risk it. "No asking about ongoing investigations or how to break into my house or hurt my friends. And I ask the first question." Zabini nodded his agreement. Harry took a moment to perfect the wording of his question, then laid both letters on the table. "To your best knowledge, or best guess, who sent the letters—the ones sitting on the table in front of us— to me?"

Smirking, Zabini wrote in flawless cursive: _I would guess that Draco Malfoy sent the letters._

Harry deflated under Zabini's pleased gaze. "You know something else, don't you?"

"I only agreed to one question, Potter," Zabini replied. "But, if it will give you peace of mind…" He added a line to the parchment: _I did not send those letters to you_. "Happy?"

Harry took the parchment and wrote: _No_. "But I'll give you another question," he continued, enjoying the flash of bemusement on Zabini's face.

Zabini didn't waste the opportunity. "What's something I can blackmail you with?"

Harry gaped at him. "Seriously?"

Zabini shrugged. "It's an open-ended question. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Blackmail is illegal," Harry reminded him.

"Only if you use it."

Shaking his head, Harry thought hard about his answer, then, growing impatient, sprawled down the first thing that came to his head. "Happy?"

Zabini grinned widely. "If you ever need to settle a dispute, Potter, you know who to owl."

As Zabini left the room, Harry glanced down at what he had written.

_I think I'm falling in love with Draco Malfoy._

~D~H~

The next time they had dinner, Malfoy was twenty minutes late. The food had arrived by the time he strode in, looking flustered, his normally impeccable hair slightly mussed in the back.

"Sorry," he apologized. That once unthinkable word was so easy to say now as long as it pertained to something mundane like running late and not trying to kill each other. "I fell asleep."

"That's okay," Harry replied before stopping abruptly.

Malfoy looked up from his food. "What?"

"You said you fell asleep," Harry said slowly. "Not that you overslept."

Malfoy shrugged. "Semantics."

Harry wasn't buying it. "Malfoy, do you have trouble sleeping?"

"No." That was a definite yes, then.

"That's not the first time you've said something like this," Harry continued. "Plus there's the part where you voluntarily work night shifts."

"Because there are fewer people to stare at me like I'm something that crawled out of a dung heap."

"Or because you can't sleep at night," Harry countered.

Malfoy glared at him. "Shove off, Potter."

"Harry," he corrected, fighting back the urge to smooth out the tuft of hair that had gravitated onto Malfoy's forehead. "If you're going to tell me to shove off, at least do it properly." He was tempted to punctuate that with a _Draco_, but he had enough time figuring out who Malfoy was without the added confusion of a new name.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure I'm the expert in that regard… Potter."

"Guess not, because it's not working." Harry pulled him back on topic. "What do you dream about?"

"You." Harry waited for the rest of the sentence, but Malfoy was silent. Hesitantly, Harry raised his head, only to find Malfoy staring back at him with his soft grey eyes. Who the hell had grey eyes anyway? Only Malfoy could take such a dull color and turn it into something desirable. For that one moment, their eyes met, one perfect moment of green on grey. Then Malfoy ruined it by rolling his eyes. "Such an easy mark, Potter."

Harry flushed, looking away. How could he forget? This was Malfoy he was talking about, not Draco. Draco was a seven-year-old boy who only existed on paper and, judging by his last letter, could be just as unpleasant. Harry let the silence linger long enough for Malfoy to think he'd won before striking back. If Malfoy was looking to embarrass him, then so be it. Two could play this game. "You wish, Malfoy. I know what kind of company you keep at night."

Confusion flickered across Malfoy's face— _so he is single_, Harry thought giddily— before he assumed a neutral expression. "I don't know what you're talking about, Potter."

"So the name 'Orion' doesn't ring a bell?" Harry winked as Malfoy reddened, struggling to maintain a dignified pose. "The Weasley twins toured him around the Gryffindor Common room First Year. No one could ever really take you seriously after that."

Malfoy started to speak, then bit back whatever he was going to say in favor of a sneer. "Like you didn't have a teddy bear when you were young."

"I didn't," Harry answered honestly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Please, Potter. Everyone sent you free stuff." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. A year ago, Harry would have called it jealousy. Now, however, the letters sprung to mind, giving Malfoy's tone a new air of… disillusionment?

Maybe it was time to break the illusion, then. "The first thing I ever got sent was my Hogwarts letter," Harry said in a low tone. "If anyone sent me anything, I never got it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he measured Malfoy's reaction, but the blond hardly moved, seeming to have expected the answer. Of course, being Malfoy, he was probably focused on his own letters. He didn't yet understand the weight of the statement. Harry was all too eager to enlighten him. "I never had any toys."

That got a reaction. "What do you mean, you didn't have any toys?"

"You think that's shocking?" Harry scoffed. "I never had any anything! I didn't even have my own clothes. I didn't have to worry about monsters hiding under my bed because I slept in a cupboard under the stairs. Ten years, Malfoy! And you don't think I have trouble sleeping?"

It was a good thing that last part was rhetorical, since he seemed to have broken Malfoy. The Slytherin opened and closed his mouth several times, his expression shifting like a Boggart confronted by too many people. What finally came out was, "Cupboard?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "Of course. You know all about cupboards, don't you?"

It was a cruel thing to say, but Merlin's beard, just because Malfoy turned him into a lovesick puppy didn't mean he couldn't bite. Judging by the sudden sheen to Malfoy's eyes, it had hurt. "You've been waiting to say that all this time, haven't you?" he hissed. "Merlin, Potter, I thought you of all people…"

"You don't know me, Malfoy," Harry interrupted coldly. "Didn't you learn anything from what I just said? You don't know me. But that's not your problem, Malfoy. Your problem is, you don't know yourself. You call yourself a Death Eater, a 'pathetic janitor'— like the two are the same! I think you're still the same old Malfoy at heart. You just want to be what everyone expects you to be. The only problem is, most people think you're nothing! Is that what you want to be, Malfoy? Because you're going to have to try a lot harder to convince me!"

He was out of breath by the end and had to fight the strange urge to laugh at nothing whatsoever, or else cry.

Malfoy's face was stoic throughout, with the same tired eyes he wore to work every day. "Is it my turn now?" He didn't give Harry a chance to answer before he launched into a tirade. "If my problem is that I'm _nothing_—" He spat the word. "—then your problem is that you try to be everything! For Merlin's sake, Potter, you're a hero! Isn't that enough? Just accept the fact you can't save everyone, and move on!"

"Move on! You're telling _me_ to move on? You're the one who needs to move on!"

"Then let me!" His hair flew in every which direction, as wild and untamable as the boy he'd always teased. His porcelain skin was red from exertion and exhaustion. And his eyes—they weren't just grey, they were colorless. "If you're waiting for me to have some epiphany or—or to sleep through one night without screaming, then just leave now. I—I do believe you're trying to help, but…" Malfoy shook his head. "I'm not—don't make me say it."

Harry's heart nearly burst at the sight. Did he know what his words meant? Was there a double-meaning buried in there, or was Harry just so far gone that he could no longer separate his own feelings from reality? He remembered Ron's words from long ago, right after Hermione had punched Malfoy in the face. Never had he thought Malfoy echo them so closely. Slowly, he reached across the table and grabbed Malfoy's hand. "I told you, Malfoy. You're worth just as much as anyone else."

Malfoy closed his eyes. "Maybe that's what hurts the most." He took a deep breath, then, in a decisive movement, yanked his hand out of Harry's grip. Refusing to meet Harry's eyes, he said, "I'm sorry, Potter. I'm flattered, but… I'm not who you think I am."

Then he fled from the scene, leaving only a half-eaten omelet behind. Sighing, Harry waived the waiter over as soon as he could, but to his surprise, he was informed that the bill had already been paid. Apparently Malfoy wanted no debts left between them.

There was another letter on the stoop when he got home, but he didn't open it, choosing instead to collapse on the couch and hope he'd wake up realizing this all had been a dream. Of course, that was what had caused their argument in the first place: dreams.

Harry could hardly criticize Malfoy for his sleeping habits. He hardly slept a wink that night either.

* * *

**Does Zabini know more than he is telling? Who is sending these mysterious letters? Next chapter, Harry meets a "monster," and some old friends made a reappearance. I still haven't decided if I'll go back to updating on Fridays or switch to an earlier day, but I will listen to input in reviews!**


	4. Loos

**Warning: The letter in this chapter is disturbing. I freaked myself out a little while writing it. I hope the comic relief in later sections makes up for it!**

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_The monster is haunting my loo now. The good news is, I can sleep through the night again. The bad news is, I wet the bed even more now because I'm scared my toilet will eat me if I try use it. You had better arrive soon because Mother is starting to notice the extra fertilizer in the garden and she won't believe me when I say it's the peacocks._

_I tried vanquishing the monster on my own. I did a whole ritual. I plucked all the feathers off a peacock one by one. (Afterwards, I sold them as quills—I made 12 sickles and 5 knuts! Don't worry, I saved one to write this letter with.) Then, I poked its eyes out with a stick and used the blood to draw a spell circle. (There was enough left over to use as war paint.) Finally, I snapped its neck with my hands. But I wish I had decapitated it. I heard its body can flail around for over fifteen seconds before it realizes it's lost its head. Isn't that funny? Anyway, I might still get the chance, because the ritual didn't work._

_I think I'll try my Crup next. Or maybe one of the House Elves._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Reading the letter right after that disastrous dinner had been a poor idea for several reasons. First, it wasn't the kind of letter one wanted to read on a full stomach. More importantly, it destroyed any closure Malfoy's words might have given him. When he closed his eyes, Harry could see the dead bird, snowy white in its albinism, reminding him of an old friend. Harry had to hold the letter up to his lamp to convince himself Malfoy hadn't used the bird's blood as ink. He shivered at the thought, unconsciously touching the words etched on his wrist.

In the two weeks that followed, Harry strained to remember an instance when Draco had positively interacted with animals. Images of Buckbeak flailing his hooves at the blond flooded through his mind. But that had only happened because Malfoy hadn't listened to Hagrid. Not because he was some sort of bird-killing psychopath. What he'd done had been a one-time act of desperation. Besides, rich people often killed birds as sport. _But not with their hands…_

More likely, it was a manipulation tactic to appeal to Harry's heroic nature, to force him to act quickly. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.

Something Malfoy had said during their first dinner that still bothered him. _What about the nights when I succeeded? _Malfoy had admitted to killing before. Having seen Malfoy's face on the tower that night, Harry still didn't believe Malfoy was capable of killing anyone. But animals…

He sighed loudly, pushing the letter away. The owl alarm he'd set hadn't worked, meaning he was no closer to finding who was sending these letters than he had been months ago. Malfoy had an owl, didn't he? A living one? That had to mean he'd outgrown his bird-killing phase, didn't it?

Ron slammed his file down. "That's it. We're going on a little adventure."

Harry perked up. "New case?" He could really use a good, old-fashioned chase scene right now.

Ron didn't say anything as he led him to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and ushered him into a spare room. After checking that they were alone, he pulled a small tape out of his pocket and plopped it in the VCR.

"What is that, a surveillance tape?" Harry asked. "Are we working a Muggle case?"

Ron merely smiled and pressed the play button. Harry jumped back as a black and white blob suddenly appeared on the screen. "What is _that_? Something that escaped from Mysteries? Is that our case, to hunt it down and kill it?"

Ron responded by punching him in the face. "That's my daughter!"

"Oh," Harry sounded, staring at the sonogram as the blob's pulpous appendages turned to a body and fingers before his eyes. Wincing, he plastered a grin on his face. "And she's beautiful."

"Damn right she is! So as long as you're not getting work done anyway, you can stop being miserable for five seconds and tell me what a great father I'm going to be." Ron folded his arms and glared at Harry, daring him to disagree.

"Yeah," Harry sounded, plastering a smile on his face. "You're going to be a fantastic father, Harry Jr. is going to love you."

"Did you miss the part where I said she was a girl?"

"Short for Harriet."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Now, do you mind telling me what's got you looking like Kreacher on a bad hair day? Or a good hair day, for that matter."

Harry sighed. Ron would never understand, but maybe if he said it out loud, he'd realize how pathetic he was being and stop pining for a man who not only hated his guts but hated his own guts. "Malfoy and I had a fight," he said glumly.

"Congratulations. Now back on topic."

Harry buried his head in his hands. "I am so screwed."

"Harry!" Ron sounded, horrified. "There are children present!"

Sure enough, the little fetus wobbled around on the screen, seeming to tilt what Harry assumed was her head in their direction. Harry smiled at it. Forget Malfoy. Would he ever have a sonogram of his own to coo over and show off to his closest friends? Sure, Harry would never have a child in the traditional sense, but he'd always known he'd wanted children, whether through adoption or surrogacy. Maybe Malfoy was right, and he did need to move on with his life.

"Thanks, Ron," he said, standing up.

Ron frowned, oblivious to Harry's inner epiphany. "For what?"

Harry nodded towards the screen. "For her. For showing me how small-minded I was being." He chuckled to himself. "And to think, I accused him of living in the past." He stopped in front of the sonogram, transfixed at the screen. "Just look at those fingernails."

Ron seemed to think he'd lost his mind, but at the last comment, he broke out into a dopey smile. "Did you know most babies take eleven weeks before they have fingernails? Our little girl's ahead of her time. Just like her mother."

"Her father's not too shabby either," Harry replied, watching Ron blush and turn his attention to the repeating loop on the screen. He didn't know how long they stood like that, in silence, watching the scratchy footage of something that weighed a third of an ounce. All Harry knew what that it lifted a huge weight off his soul, and he went home feeling better than he had in weeks.

~D~H~

Of course, that was when Malfoy chose to reappear in his life. Harry found the git sleeping in his desk chair— his specially ordered, dragon hide massage chair— when he came into work the next day. Thankfully, Ron hadn't arrived yet, or Harry probably wouldn't have ever seen his chair again. Briefly, he debated pulling the chair out from under Malfoy when he noticed the expression on Malfoy's face.

It was peaceful. He'd never realized just how much that dead stare aged the blond's face. Without it, he looked years younger, almost like the boy who had offered his teddy bear to Harry Potter.

With a jolt, Harry realized any progress he'd made yesterday had just been lost. Could Malfoy's timing be any worse?

"Hey, Harry!"

_Speaking of bad timing…_

Frantically, Harry searched his office for an excuse not to let Ron in. His eyes fell on Malfoy's open toolbox. Wait, was that…?

Making a split second decision, he grabbed the object and leapt into action, slamming the door shut (quietly, so as not to wake Malfoy and render the rest of his plan useless) and yanking off the doorknob. He barely had time to slide the replacement into the hole before Ron approached him.

"You can't go in there," Harry told his partner, his back to the door, still fiddling with the doorknob. Come on, come on…

"Why not?"

"Because…" Got it! There was a satisfying clicking sound before Harry stepped away from the door, revealing his masterpiece. Ron's mouth dropped.

"Hello, Weasel," Scorpius drawled. "Are you sure you should be working when you have Dragon Pox? No, wait, that's just your regular face."

"By the way, you have some dirt on your mouth," Albus informed him. "You really should look in a mirror once in a while, as horrifying as the sight would be."

By now, Ron's face lost most of its color. Harry patted him on the back. "Why don't you go report it to Maintenance, and I'll work on negotiating with the twins, eh?"

Ron didn't argue with that. As soon as the redhead was out of sight, Harry turned to the knobs. "Do I really have to kiss you?"

"Oh, no, we'd rather you kiss him," Albus giggled.

Harry nearly choked at the idea. "Ron's married! With a kid on the way!"

"Ew, no!" Scorpius gagged. "Not that eyesore. Blondie in there." It was a little creepy, having a doorknob wink at you. "He certainly wouldn't mind."

"Are you still going on about that?" Harry shook his head. Stupid doorknobs, entertaining his delusions. "He doesn't want a thing to do with me."

"Really? Then why did he fall asleep in your chair and not the Weasel's?"

Harry didn't waste any more time arguing as the door swung open. He figured he had about two minutes before Ron returned from Maintenance. Casting a quick Notice-Me-Not charm on Malfoy, he scooped the sleeping blond into his arms, trying to ignore that shivers it sent down his spine.

"Cover for me," Harry told the doorknobs as he left the room.

"Will do, boss," Albus called back.

As soon as he apparated away, Harry got the feeling that this was probably a bad idea, bringing Malfoy to his house. His hunch was confirmed when he tripped over the troll-leg umbrella stand, sending Mrs. Black into an ear-grinding rant about blood traitors, brimstone, and lepers.

To his great surprise, despite being dropped on the floor, Malfoy didn't even flinch in his sleep. That settled it. Malfoy had to have some sort of sleeping problem, because no one in their right mind could sleep through one of Mrs. Black's monologues.

He picked Malfoy up and carried him over to the couch. Once there, Malfoy shifted positions but otherwise didn't give any indications of waking. Harry spent longer than he should have standing over the man, soaking in the scene. Draco Malfoy. Sleeping on his ratty puce coach. Why hadn't he placed the blond in one of the guest bedrooms? As if reading his thoughts, Malfoy curled his arms around one of the coach pillows. A smile flittered across Harry's face as he leaned over and pushed the fluff spilling through the pillows seams out of the blond's hair. He lingered down there, even as Malfoy turned his neck. Had his eyes been open, Harry would have said he was leaning in for a kiss.

Harry left a quick note on the mantle before hurrying back to the Ministry, only to find Ron in a right state. "HARRY!" The redhead's eyes widened, flickering up and down Harry's body. "Are you okay?"

"Yes…"

Not taking him at his word, Ron gave him a thorough lookover before reaching forward and shaking him vigorously. "You can't pull stunts on me like that, Harry! I have a family to think of now!"

"It wasn't like I was gone for that long," Harry protested. "Didn't the knobs tell you where I was going?"

Ron grimaced. "In great detail."

Harry groaned internally. So much for keeping it a secret. "Ron, I can explain. You see, I found him sleeping in my chair, and then I came, and—"

Ron made a choking sound. Honestly, he knew the two weren't keen on each other, but he didn't think what he'd done deserved that much of a reaction. "Harry, I don't need the details. And next time, use a code word. Like say you're going out to buy turnips or something, okay? I don't need to be told by a doorknob that my best friend's getting laid."

"Sorry, I'll… Wait, what?" Harry sputtered. "What do you mean I was…" Realization struck him. Around the same time, Scorpius and Albus started giggling from the doorway, smiling innocently when Harry glared at them. "I don't want to talk about it," he said curtly, slamming the door shut a little louder than necessary. "So what was that about Maintenance demolishing our door?"

~D~H~

When Harry returned home, he found Malfoy lying in the middle of the hall under the umbrella stand, his sleeves rolled up. Sweat covered his brow. Somehow, it made him look even more dignified.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Malfoy jumped, hitting his head on the stand. "Gah! Oh, uh, hi. Sorry, I meant to be gone by the time you came home."

Harry noticed the tools spread across the floor. "Are fixing up the house?"

Malfoy blushed. "Well, it is my job. And not that I don't love being dropped on the floor and having my ear drums explode, but it would be much easier if you just made the legs to the umbrella stand level so that you wouldn't trip on it."

"I knew no one could sleep through that," Harry muttered, thanking Merlin he'd resisted the urge to give Malfoy a kiss on the cheek.

Malfoy grinned. "Oh, yes, Aunt Wally and I had a nice cup of tea earlier. She'd really prefer if you used a more subdued color for the curtain. Scarlet clashes with the decor."

Harry shook his head. "Do you get along with every animate object you come across?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't tend to have much luck with the living ones, so I have to make do." He stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality, Potter."

"You don't have to go!" Harry blurted. "I mean, I wouldn't mind fixing up the place. Do you mind having a look at the House Elf heads mounted on the wall?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "They're attached with screws. What's so difficult about that?"

"Maybe I'm not very good at screwing."

Malfoy laughed out loud, then clamped his hand over his mouth. Mortified, Harry realized what he'd just said. First Ron, now Malfoy?

"That's not what I meant!" he sputtered, trying to maintain some level of dignity. "I'll have you know, I'm rather talented at screwing."

"Oh?" Malfoy cocked his head to the right. "And why would you want me to know that?"

"No reason," Harry shot back. "Can you just look at the heads?"

At that, Malfoy toppled onto the floor, laughing manically, clutching his side and wheezing in a very undignified manner.

"Oh, I give up," Harry muttered, pouring himself a glass of Firewhiskey. "Have you ever had Chinese food?"

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy hadn't, which provided them with a plethora of safe conversation topics that didn't come close to broaching anything they'd fought about two weeks ago. When Malfoy excused himself to the loo, Harry stuck his hand in Malfoy's bag and removed what was ostensibly some sort of tool— a translucent orb that levitated in the air when Harry let go of it. It didn't look like any torture device, except that it reminded Harry of Divination with Professor Trelawney.

"Well, well, well. A thief Auror."

He jumped at Malfoy's voice. As he turned, he saw the two Ministry doorknobs hopping across the kitchen tiles. Scorpius's Malfoy impression had certainly improved. "I thought I told you to stay in my briefcase!"

"Brief_case_?" Albus sounded. "_Oh_. We thought you meant the case where you kept your briefs."

"Yeah, we didn't know you went commando," Scorpius said.

Harry rubbed his forehead. The thought of Ministry doorknobs crawling through his boxers made him actually want to take up their suggestion. "I don't go commando. And I'm not a thief." As he spoke, he tried shoving the orb into a drawer.

If Albus and Scorpius had possessed eyebrows, they would have raised them then as the orb jumped out and whizzed around the room.

"True," Albus said. "I suppose you can only be called a thief if you manage to steal something."

Harry made a growling sound as he arm-wrestled with the orb.

Scorpius winced as the orb shot up Harry's trousers. "I really hope he wasn't lying about the commando part. Because otherwise—"

"GAH!" With a final push, Harry managed to trap the orb in the drawer by slamming his body weight against it. Panting, he heard the toilet flushing. Pointing a threatening finger at the knobs, he said, "Not a word about this. Got it?"

Scorpius smirked. "A few conditions…"

Harry groaned. The knobs' imperviousness to spells wasn't so funny when it wasn't Ron shooting hexes at them. "Can we settle this later?" Already, the bathroom sink had stopped running.

That didn't deter Scorpius. "I want a lake view."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't live by a lake."

"So? Make one. You are a wizard, aren't you?"

"I just want chocolate," Al said, licking his lips.

"Maybe one with a waterfall."

"A chocolate waterfall!"

Harry buried his head in his hands.

"Did the dumplings not agree with you, Potter?"

He snapped up, hoping to find Scorpius sticking his tongue out at him. But no, Malfoy had returned from the loo. His voice teased, but there was genuine concern in his eyes. Al and Scorpius had retreated underneath the table. "No—OW!" Refusing to admit defeat, the orb slammed itself against the inside of the drawer, pushing the handle into his back. "Uh, the eggrolls," Harry lied.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as he grabbed his coat. "Next time, we have pureblood food."

"Pureblood food?" What he wanted to shout was, _next time_?

"Sure. Eye of a Muggleborn, spleen of a House Elf…"

It took Harry a few seconds before he could laugh, mixed with a relieved sigh, which was cut off by another attack from the orb. This time, Malfoy noticed the movement and frowned. "Is there something in that drawer?"

"No, it just… likes to do that… a lot."

Malfoy shook his head. "I don't understand. Why do you live in this decrepit pit when you could buy a castle? Or maybe even a whole country. One of the little unimportant ones. Like Belgium."

"This decrepit pit is your ancestral home."

The blond let out a small noise. Harry had assumed Malfoy would recognize the place from his childhood. Then again, he had a hard time imagining the Malfoys vacationing here. "This is…?" Malfoy caught his breath. "Of course. Aunt Walburga's portrait. Then that means…" He trailed off, but Harry thought he knew what Malfoy was about to say. _Then that means this was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix._

"I could show you around, if you'd like."

Malfoy shook his head before Harry even finished speaking. "I have to get to work." He gave Harry a curt nod. "Thanks for having me, Potter."

Harry nodded back, wanting to show Malfoy to the door but held captive by the orb's attacks. He hoped Malfoy didn't need the orb too badly for work, because he had other uses for it.

~D~H~

The next morning, he was woken by Walburga Black shrieks about chopping off the fingers of whoever was knocking on the door at this hour. Opening it, he found Malfoy, eyes darting from house to house. It occurred to Harry that Malfoy hadn't been fully awake the first time he'd entered and likely hadn't realized they were in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood.

"My gimmicks orb is missing," Malfoy said, folding his hands behind his back, a nervous habit of his. "I thought I might have left it here."

Harry yawned. Stupid orb had kept him up all night. Clearly dissatisfied with that greeting, Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Sorry. Yeah, look around. Want some coffee?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Why not?"

It was only after Harry poured him a cup that Harry remembered that it wasn't morning for Malfoy, who had just come off a long night shift. "It's caffeinated, just so you know," Harry said as he handed him the mug. He failed to suppress another yawn.

"For someone so concerned about my sleeping habits, you don't look like you're doing too well yourself."

Harry was spared coming up with a comeback when a green jet of light blasted into the kitchen, headed straight for Malfoy. Instinctively, Harry pushed Malfoy away. The mug crashed on the ground, sending a spray of sizzling coffee up his leg. Malfoy was less fortunate—he'd faceplanted into the puddle of coffee and broken ceramic. Blood and coffee dripped down his forehead into his eyes, but he didn't close them. If anything, he opened them even wider as he looked up. Harry didn't have time to interpret their meaning as the light struck him in the chest.

Instead of being absorbed by his body, it knocked the breath out of his lungs, then rebounded across the room. Gasping for air, Harry fell to his knees and stared at the light, now floating contently over the sink.

The orb. The stupid, glowing orb.

Next to Harry, Malfoy had come to the same realization. Harry winced at the nasty gash on Malfoy's forehead. "Malfoy, I am so sorry…"

"You thought it was the Killing Curse," Malfoy breathed.

Not sure whether to be embarrassed or not, Harry went to gather some napkins. As he pressed them against Malfoy's wound, the blond grabbed his wrist. "You would have died for me."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Even as he spoke, he winced again. He didn't want to remind Malfoy of that night. "What I mean is, I'm trained to do that for my job. I would have done it for anyone."

Some of the shock seemed to have worn off, since Malfoy scowled. "I'm not the Prophet, Potter. You don't have to say that drivel to me."

"You're right. If you were the Prophet, I probably wouldn't have pushed you out of the way."

"Doesn't the Weaselette work for the Prophet?"

Harry glared at him. "You're not going to make me feel sorry for saving your life."

Malfoy batted his eyes— to clear the coffee out of them, Harry reminded himself. "Isn't that the first thing you said to me? That you were _so _sorry?"

He had a point there. More so than he knew, given that Harry had stolen the orb in the first place. But now probably wasn't the best time to mention that.

"I am sorry," Harry said sincerely. "Not for trying to save your life, but for making a mess of it."

He left an opening for Malfoy to start his inevitable tirade of how Harry should have pushed his own face into a pile of ceramic, given that it always looked like a roller coaster had bulldozed over it. To his surprise, Malfoy's lips curled into a smile. "I suppose it hurts you more than me. You're the one who has to look at my face. In fact, I should probably be thanking you." Malfoy stood up. Probably a calculated move so that Harry would be forced to gape up at him from the floor. "I noticed your toilet was making strange noises last night. I could take a look at it while you're at work?"

He left it as a question. Harry remembered the letter from a few days ago. No wonder Malfoy seemed hesitant. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I think something's just nesting in it." Harry swallowed and prayed it wasn't some species of bird. "I've been meaning to check it out."

"And I'm offering to do it for you." That wasn't a question. Smirking, he used Harry's own words against him. "I would have done it for anyone."

Harry folded his arms. "You don't have to return the favor. You could work on the House Elf heads, if you want." As Harry recalled, the blond been hesitant to remove those too. He'd complained about Harry being incompetent, but maybe that was only a cover. Maybe he actually enjoyed the decorations. His second letter suggested as much.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Thanks, Potter, but I'll stick with the plumbing."

Harry gave him a small shrug. "Okay, Malfoy. I was just looking out for you. I know you haven't always had the best luck with bathrooms."

Malfoy looked like he'd just been the one hit in the chest by a flying orb. Against that defeated expression and those dejected eyes, Harry couldn't even celebrate the confirmation that Malfoy had indeed been haunted by his loo. Had he really been that traumatized by that imaginary monster when he was a kid?

A wave of horror passed over Harry as another possible interpretation sprung to mind. "Oh no. Malfoy, I didn't mean… I wasn't talking about…"

_I was talking about when you were six. Not Sixth Year. Not that._

But his carelessness couldn't be erased, no matter what explanation he gave. Malfoy had been right to think Harry was investigating him. The fact that it wasn't for an official case only made it worse.

Malfoy's hands had disappeared into the sleeves of his robes. Blood from the gash had started trickling down his face again, blocked by the wall his eyebrows made as he sneered. "Let me guess, Potter. You're sorry?"

Harry reached forward, not sure what he was aiming for—a shoulder, maybe a cheek. Malfoy jerked back as if Harry's touch was an infection. "I hate those words. More than anything else you said."

The Slytherin stormed off. Moments later, Harry heard a loud crack and the gasps of a few shocked dog walkers, the only sign Malfoy's composure was cracking. More likely, he'd done it on purpose to make Harry late for work.

Harry sighed. He had stolen the orb foolishly to lure Malfoy back. Now he wished he had settled for a hammer or taken a risk—taken nothing at all.

* * *

**To any Belgians who are reading this: Malfoy says he's sorry. Or he would if it didn't ruin his storm-out one-liner from above. Thank you to all the guest reviewers I wasn't able to reply to! You guys all rock!**


	5. Oh Crup

**A little later than normal, but it's a monster chapter in more than one way. Thanks for all the reviews!**

_Malfoy,_

_Please don't incinerate this before you get a chance to read it. What I said was wrong and stupid. (Given that it's me we're talking about, are you really surprised?) I wasn't thinking. I certainly wasn't trying to insult you._

_Can we talk?_

_Harry_

_Malfoy,_

_While we're on the topic, I'd like to apologize for what I did to you back then. If I had known what the spell was, I would have never cast it. Not that that's any excuse. Just another instance of me not thinking about what comes out of my mouth._

_I'm not saying I pity you or anything. I would have given you donkey ears in a heartbeat had I known the right spell._

_Harry_

_Malfoy,_

_Possibly you're having trouble reading my handwriting. To resolve that issue, I'm dictating this using one of George's "I Can't Believe It's Not Stutter" quills. I just wanted to say that I like peanut butter. I'm sorry I was such a gassy antelope. I hope this letter reaches you sexually. Unicorn._

_Harry_

_Malfoy,_

_Incinerate that last letter. Please. George likes using me a lab rat._

_Harry_

_Malfoy,_

_Want to get a bite to eat? There's a new Mexican place opening up by the Leaky Cauldron._

_Harry_

_Malfoy,_

_For future reference, never feed Albus chocolate. What comes out the other end might look like chocolate, but it's not._

_Harry_

The morning after he sent the last letter, Harry found two words written in dust on his desk: DOG BISCUITS. He started to grin but ended up sneezing instead, scattering the dust across the room and leaving him to wonder if it had been his imagination all along. A glance at his grocery list made him even less certain. "Dog biscuits for Hagrid" appeared at the top, reminding him that he'd agreed to meet the half-giant's latest pet tonight. Hagrid had described it as a "sweet little darling," which only guaranteed that it would be none of those things.

Fears for his appendages aside, Harry was looking forward to the visit. Usually, Neville would drop by with his newest hybrid, which would invariably end up dog-fighting, copulating with, or getting eaten by Hagrid's "darling."

His foot knocked against something under his desk when he pushed his chair in. A box of gourmet dog biscuits. So his letters to Malfoy weren't being scattered across time after all.

Breathing was nice, but every once in a while, that came second to Hagrid's bear hugs. The gamekeeper's beard was getting longer than Dumbledore's. It tickled Harry's chin. Upon further investigation, Harry realized it was actually the flobberworms nesting inside the beard that were tickling him, which brought an abrupt halt to his laughter.

Hagrid released him. Wrinkles circled his eyes as he grinned. "Look at yeh, Harry! I always knew you'd make a good Auror. Right from when you were just a Firs' Year, trying to grill me for information about Fluffy."

Harry smiled. Not all his suspects were are loose-lipped as Hagrid. "How is Fluffy?"

"Jus' fine! He loves playing with Toothless."

"Toothless?" Hagrid seemed to have a knack for naming canines after canines. Fang had fangs. Maybe Toothless was actually, well...

Lulled into a false sense of security, Harry didn't hear the dog's breathy growl until it was too late. Claws pierced his back, knocking him into the grass face first. He heard Hagrid shouting behind him, "Bad Toothless! Harry is our friend! Try rubbing his gums, Harry, he likes that."

Spitting out a mouthful of grass, Harry came face to face with a slobbery tongue, which flicked the glasses off his face. Hagrid managed to get the beast under control as Harry grappled around for them. "Sorry, Harry. He's jus' excited to see yeh again!"

"It's okay, Hagrid, I— again?" Adjusting his glasses, Harry got a clear view of the beast for the first time: the wild Crup that had attacked Hermione. He gaped at it, which, as if reading his thoughts, snuggled against Hagrid's leg and starred purring. "Where did you get that?"

"Hermione gave him to me 'bout a month ago. Said the Ministry might be comin' after him like with Buckbeak. Now, those two don't get along. Actually, I was wondering if you'd be able to house-sit him for awhile while Toothless adjusts to—"

"Hagrid, I'm the one heading the investigation!"

"What do yeh mean?" Hagrid's smile disappeared behind his beard as he caught Harry's meaning. "You wouldn't do that. Not after Buckbeak."

Harry suppressed a sigh. There was no need to anger two of his closest friends by taking the dog away. "I'm more interested in catching the dog's owner. Have you seen anything to indicate where he came from?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Not a happy place. All he needed was a little love. Tha's what Dumbledore used to say." Beneath his salt and pepper mane, he gave such a despondent pout that even Harry felt compelled to reach out and pet the wild dog.

Toothless snarled, leaping out of Hagrid's grasp to pounce on Harry. The dog's claws ripped through Harry's robes, drowning out Hagrid's shouts. Struggling beneath the dog, Harry winced as he envisioned tomorrow's headline: TOP AUROR MAULED TO DEATH BY FRIEND'S PET.

Instead of going for his head, the dog dove at his pocket. _The dog biscuits_, Harry thought as the Toothless's tail smacked against his forehead. The Crup tore the box open, sending the biscuits flying across the lawn. Rather than chasing after them, Toothless ripped the box to shreds.

Hagrid chuckled. "Isn't he adorable?"

Propped up on his elbows, Harry watched incredulously as Toothless finished grinding the box into dust, then returned to Hagrid's lap, completely ignoring the biscuits.

Why would a dog go berserk over a box of dog biscuits but ignore the actual treats? Did the scent cling that strongly to the box? Unless there was another scent Toothless was interested in. _Malfoy. It was Malfoy's box._

Toothless hadn't been targeting Hermione at all.

He had been targeting Malfoy.

~D~H~

Harry had nearly finished the novel he was reading when the door to his office swung open. He waited for the footsteps to get closer before springing out from under his desk. "How's it going, Malfoy?"

An elbow slammed into his face. He heard a crunching noise as Malfoy reached for his wand, then pulled back sharply. "_Potter_?"

"I think you broke my nose. Again." Remember how Malfoy had reacted to the bathroom comment, he winced, then winced again as pain shot up his nostrils. "Please don't take that as an insult. I'm running out of ink."

"_Episkey_." The bones in his nose fell into place with more force than was strictly necessary. Malfoy lowered his wand, although his unblinking expression told Harry he was ready to raise it again at a moment's notice. "I'm at work, Potter. Don't you think this is a little unprofessional?"

"Actually, I'm here on official business," Harry said. "I would have owled you, but I couldn't trust that you'd actually read my letter." He tried not to sound too bitter.

Malfoy folded his arms. "Put your bloody doorknob on a diet. I don't care if they came from Mysteries, that does not count as official business."

"It's not that. Remember the wild Crup that attacked Hermione?" Harry didn't wait for Malfoy to nod. "It was targeting you."

Harry didn't expect Malfoy to turn into some damsel in distress, begging for his protection, but he certainly expected a bigger reaction than a cocked eyebrow that said _So what? _After a few seconds, Malfoy rewarded his patience with a sneer. "I apologize for putting your friend in danger. Next time, I'll try getting attacked in a different wing of the building."

"You're right. You did put my friend in danger." Harry took a step closer. "You, Malfoy. You're my friend." He heard Malfoy draw in a breath, as if Harry's rather obvious admission scared him more than the news that someone was trying to kill him. "I know I say stupid things sometimes, but that's not one of them."

His fingers brushed against Malfoy's sleeve, scaling his arm until they landed firmly on his shoulder. Malfoy's gaze followed its path, but he didn't shrug the hand away. Cautiously, the Slytherin reached forward and pushed Harry's hair away from his forehead, squinting as if reading a complicated set of instructions. Harry's breath caught in his throat as a tingling sensation tickled across his body, ending in his cock. His fingers tightened around Malfoy's shoulder.

Abruptly, the blond pulled back. "Why all the letters?"

Harry's gaze gravitated to his feet. Malfoy was wearing loafers that probably had a name that couldn't be pronounced in English. "I went a little overboard. I'm—"

Malfoy clamped his hand over Harry's mouth. "Please don't make me listen to another apology. I'll break your nose again."

Harry laughed into Malfoy's palm. It felt like warm laundry against his lips. "Deal." Malfoy lowered his hand. He hadn't moved, but he seemed so much closer than before. Behind him, Harry could see the photographs from the grizzly ABC serial killer case. Even amidst the blood and mutilated flesh, he couldn't help smiling. "So. Are you still interested in checking out that toilet?"

The glare Malfoy shot at him sent him into a brief panic before he noticed the curls of a smile tugging at the blond's lips. "That Mexican place better be good."

The tacos ended up giving him food poisoning, but it was the best dinner he'd had in a long time.

~D~H~

When Malfoy departed for work the next night, he conveniently left his plunger at Grimmauld Place. Harry found him sleeping on the couch when he returned from work the day after. On the kitchen table, an Italian menu was sitting with two entrees circled.

They fell into an easy routine. Breakfast-dinners and dinner-breakfasts with the occasional brunch on weekends. Sometimes, Harry would find Malfoy sleeping on the couch when he got home. More often, he'd find the blond in the process of doing one of the seemingly endless repairs the house needed. They weren't just necessary repairs, like fixing the floorboard that was loose on the second floor. Harry actually wanted to make an effort to make the house more family friendly. Ron and Hermione would be having a daughter in a few months, and somehow, Harry doubted Hermione would approve of some of the less savory decorations (mainly, the House Elf heads, which had, in fact, been declared illegal in a bill Hermione had written herself).

Scorpius complained bitterly that the leaky faucet he faced did not qualify as a waterfall. That ended when Harry came home to a flooded kitchen and a pair of unhinged doorknobs surfing on his china set. Harry might have actually followed through on his threats to melt them into a set of cock rings had Malfoy not appeared in his swimming trunks, a bucket in each hand. As it was, the knobs got off with a warning—although Malfoy fed them each a dog biscuit when he thought Harry wasn't looking.

Occasionally, Harry would catch Malfoy doing things that weren't strictly job related, like brewing potions on the stove burner. The Slytherin had refused to speak to Harry for a whole day after Harry had made the mistake of making fun of his— or rather, Walburga Black's— flowery apron. The blond had even started a garden by the porch— strictly for potions ingredients, he insisted, although Harry swore the buds poking up looked a bit like narcissuses.

Malfoy got along well with all of the portraits. Miraculously, he'd actually convinced Mrs. Black to refer to Harry only as a "filthy halfblood" rather than some of her more creative insults.

Kreacher especially appreciated Malfoy's presence, hovering around the blond to offer his service at every opportunity. Although the caricature on the tapestry suggested otherwise, Malfoy reminded Kreacher of poor Master Regulus, which had reduced the elf to tears at several points throughout Malfoy's stay. Malfoy was surprisingly civil about it, distracting Kreacher with ridiculous orders, then asking for stories about Regulus and the Black family while the elf fulfilled them. Harry suspected some of these stories featured him because sometimes he'd come home to Malfoy looking at him strangely, then giggling when his back was turned.

Pretty soon, Malfoy had run out of tools to accidentally forget, and Harry simply reserved a spot by the stairs for the entire kit. Not the cupboard, of course. They stayed far away from that.

"This is getting ridiculous," Harry finally said one morning. "Move in with me. I have the room, and I could use the company. You end up staying over most nights—days—anyway."

Malfoy sipped his pumpkin juice, his eyes wary. "Only because my projects require twenty-four hour supervision."

"Our projects," Harry reminded him. "And that's all the more reason to take my offer."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "You're not just doing this because you're afraid some painted animal is going to attack me if I'm left alone?"

Harry still hadn't made any headway on the Animal Artist case. Under the pretense of taking Toothless for a walk, he'd tried to get the Crup to take him to his former home to no avail. "No. You're capable of handling yourself."

Behind his cup, Malfoy seemed to frown. "Fine. But I have conditions." He leaned forward, putting the tips of his fingers together. "I want a lake view. A chocolate one."

Harry fell back in his chair with a glare. "Shake my hand, you arse, and be done with it."

Deliberately, Malfoy wiped his mouth with his napkin and straightened all of his utensils before reaching out and clasping Harry's hand. "You know how ironic this is, don't you?" When Harry didn't immediately react, he added. "It's September 1st."

"You mean we met when we were eleven years old, and only just shook hands eleven years later?" Harry laughed. "What do you think will happen when we're thirty-three?"

Smiling, Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe we'll have moved on to holding hands."

Harry smiled, although not at the absurdity of the idea. "At this rate, we'll be married by forty-four."

And damned if Malfoy didn't smile at that, his grey eyes gleaming.

~D~H~

When Harry first woke up, he thought he was still dreaming. The scene had changed, but there was still that spark of white blond hair shining in the darkness, whispering his name. "Harry." He reached out to the figure, only to have it crawl beside him on the bed and cling to him like a blanket—although Harry suspected he was supposed to be the blanket. "Harry."

It was the first time Harry could remember Malfoy calling him that. It didn't bring him as much joy as he thought it would, not when it came out between ragged gasps. Harry wished he could see the world beneath Malfoy's eyelids that was causing him such pain. As it was, he ran his fingers up and down Malfoy's back in what he hoped was a soothing rhythm.

"I killed them." The whispers coming out of Malfoy's mouth weren't intended for him. Harry rather wished the blond go back to saying his name. "I killed them all." His eyes were closed, but that didn't stop the tears from leaking out and staining Harry's shoulder.

Harry made a shushing noise. "You're okay, Malfoy. It's just a dream."

In his sleep, Malfoy grabbed Harry's shoulder. "I didn't mean to. I don't even know where they came from…"

"Shhh. You're safe now. They can't get you here." Malfoy started squirming. Harry pulled him closer, letting his head rest on his shoulder. "It's me, Draco. It's Harry. You're safe."

Draco seemed to calm down, tightening his grip. It wasn't a terribly comfortable position. Draco's hip dug into Harry's stomach. In fact, the only thing that was in danger of falling asleep was Harry's foot, caught under Draco's weight. But Harry didn't dare move for fear of waking the blond. Only his cock stubbornly disobeyed this directive. Harry didn't even want to contemplate the implications of getting an erection at Draco's nightmares.

It wasn't like Harry hadn't had equally vivid nightmares, but he'd always had friends to turn to on those nights. They'd healed together during those first few years until the nightmares had slowed to just a few striking images, drowned out by the passage of time. Draco, Harry suspected, had chosen not to sleep rather than face the nightmares alone.

Well, he wasn't alone anymore. Harry was going to make sure of that.

~D~H~

Draco was gone from the bed when Harry woke up. Thankfully, Harry still smelled coffee coming from the kitchen, which meant Draco hadn't fled the house. Yet. Neither of them worked weekends, and they often spent the days working on the house together.

The Slytherin looked more awake than usual, although after last night, Harry preferred to attribute it to anxiety rather than a good night's sleep.

"Morning, Draco." He paused, wondering if the blond would notice the change in name. If he did, he didn't say anything, so Harry continued. "About last night…"

Abruptly, Draco set his coffee down. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"No, that wasn't what I was going to say. I was just thinking, it's sort of silly having you sleep on a couch when there's a perfectly good bed. Several actually," he added, not wanting to bias Draco's decision. "I really should have offered you a guest room sooner."

Draco shook his head. "I wouldn't have accepted it. I don't sleep well when I'm in a bed."

Harry feigned innocence. "Do you know why?"

"I think so," Draco said, tracing the circle the coffee cup left on the table with his finger. "Thank you for putting up with me last night."

"It wasn't a problem," Harry said. "I have nightmares too, you know."

Draco raised his head. "You haven't while I've been here."

Harry shrugged. In all honesty, knowing the blond was sleeping on the floor below him was more of an impediment to his sleep than a help, but Draco didn't need to know that, and he certainly didn't need to know why. "Anyway, if your back ever gets sore from the couch, and you need a place… well, you know where to go."

Draco nodded wordlessly. They couldn't go farther than that, not yet, but Harry rather hoped Draco took up that offer. "Anyway," Harry cleared his throat. "I'm going to visit my godson today."

The blond frowned. "I thought Granger hadn't introduced her spawn into the world yet."

Harry tried reprimanding him with a glare, which Draco ignored, taking a sip of his coffee. "That would be my goddaughter. I'm talking about my godson, Teddy. He lives with your aunt."

Draco's face lost all of its color. It took Harry a moment to realize why. "Your aunt Andromeda, not… not her." Harry had thought he'd had it rough living with the Dursleys, but compared the Bellatrix Lestrange, Petunia Dursely probably looked like a saint.

The coffee mug trembled in Draco's hand. Harry wondered if the Slytherin had other tattoos carved into his skin besides the Dark Mark, scars like the one Bellatrix had given Hermione. He wondered if Draco had been punished the night that they escaped.

"Oh," Draco sounded, taking another sip to disguise his unease. "Why does your godson live with my aunt?"

"Because she's his grandmother." Draco coughed so as to avoid choking on his coffee. Harry winced. "I take it your mother never mentioned the letters?"

"What letters?"

"After your father… er, well, Andy thought your mother could use some company. She writes once a year, inviting your mother to visit. To my knowledge, she's never gotten a response."

"Letters get lost in the mail sometimes," Draco replied softly, refusing to meet Harry's gaze. "I'll ask her about it the next time I see her. Although, I doubt it'll be before the holidays. She's been living in France ever since…"

Harry nodded. Lucius's execution had been the price of Narcissa and Draco's freedom. Not officially, of course, but he had seen it in the juries' faces when he testified for the Malfoys. Lucius had known it too and had gone to his grave more dignified than he'd ever been in life. Possibly, he was more afraid of Azkaban than death. Harry liked to think that he'd honestly cared about his wife and son.

"You could do more than that, if you wanted," he said quietly. Draco looked at him quizzically. "You could come with me."

Draco frowned at him. "Why would you want me to come with you? He's your godson. You probably spoil him terribly."

Harry couldn't deny that. "He deserves it." And not just because he was the most clever kid in the world, in Harry's completely unbiased opinion. Harry wanted to give Teddy everything he hadn't had with the Dursleys. It was therapeutic, if not entirely healthy. He honestly feared that if he had any of his own children, they would all turn out like, well, Draco, minus the blood purity convictions. _Not that that would be so bad_, he thought, giving Draco a subtle glance over.

Draco considered the request. "I suppose I'll go," he said. "But only to ensure you haven't completely corrupted him. He shares my blood, after all. I need to make sure he's been raised properly."

"Use that as an excuse if you want, but don't mention it out loud," Harry warned him. "It's hard for Andromeda to raise a child on her own. Especially now that he's developed Tonks's metamorphmagus abilities."

Draco frowned. "What happened to his parents, if you don't mind me asking?"

As much as he hated thinking about Remus and Tonks's deaths, he was glad Draco had thought to ask. "They were both killed in the Battle of Hogwarts, right after he was born. His grandfather was murdered by the Snatchers that year too."

Harry wasn't even sure Draco heard that last part. Upon hearing the name of the battle, the Slytherin immediately drew back. "Oh no. I can't… not when…" He shook his head, retreating against the wall.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Harry demanded. "He's a five-year-old boy, he won't bite. Well, on a good day."

"You don't understand," Draco said, his breathing accelerating, his voice trembling. "I fought in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I know," Harry replied, vaguely offended. "I was there. Saved your life twice that day, as I recall." He regretted mentioning the fact. He didn't want Draco to think he had any obligation to Harry because of it.

Luckily, Draco seemed to be too panicked to think like a proper Slytherin. "What if I killed one of them?"

"You didn't," Harry replied automatically.

"You can't know that," Draco argued, throwing his hand against his forehead, as if nursing a headache.

"I can, because you didn't kill anyone."

"I did too," Draco insisted.

"Not directly. And not Teddy's parents."

Draco looked like he wanted to argue but gave up. "Then my father or…"

Harry cut him off. "Your aunt. Andy's sister."

The devastated look on Draco's face made Harry want to reach out and embrace him like he had the previous night. But he held back, using words instead. "You can't change the fact that your aunt took away Teddy's family. But you can give Teddy a family. You can be his cousin. You can teach him all the things he might have learned if his parents had survived. It won't be the same, but…" He smiled at Draco. "It'll be something."

"What can I possibly teach him?" Draco scoffed, sinking onto the floor. "How to fail at life? How to be a coward?"

Harry sat next to him. "You'd be surprised at what children learn just by observing. I made the mistaking of swearing in front of Teddy once when he was a toddler, and it was his favorite word for a month." Draco snorted and gave him that familiar eye roll, the one that said, _Only you, Potter_.

"And I know for a fact that you can pass on lessons from his father," Harry continued, "because his father taught you."

Draco frowned, undoubtedly reviewing all of his teachers in his head. "Who…?"

"Remus Lupin," Harry answered. At Draco's surprised expression, he sighed. "No, Teddy's not a werewolf. Yes, I will hex you if you say anything remotely insulting about his father…"

"I won't." The words came so quickly, Harry had no choice but to believe them. "I won't," Draco repeated, seemingly to himself. He hesitated, then held out his hand. "Take me to him."

At first, Harry was giddy that Draco was holding his hand. Then he realized that Draco only meant to apparate alongside him. "Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Follow me."

~D~H~

Andromeda's expression when she opened the door to find Harry with Draco Malfoy, still holding hands from apparation, was priceless. "Andromeda," Harry greeted, dropping Draco's hand. He tried to smile, but in his anxiety, it ended up a bit lopsided. "This is…"

"Draco Malfoy," Andromeda finished, having recovered quickly from her surprise. She turned to search Draco for any sign of a threat.

Equally uneasy, Draco gave her a polite nod. "Ma'am." Harry nudged him, and he cleared his throat. "I apologize for not introducing myself earlier, and for any hardship my family has put you through. If there's anything I can do to, uh…" It wasn't often that Harry saw Draco Malfoy lost for words. Their conversations had always come so easily, even if they had consisted mainly of insults hurdled back and forth. Before, Draco had always been so talented at producing some sort of flowery speech that put strangers in their place. Now he stumbled with his words, as if he wasn't sure where his place was.

Andromeda sighed. "Oh, cut with the formalities, and come in before I die of old age. It seems we have a lot to catch up on." She glanced knowingly at Harry before calling for Teddy.

The boy bounded into the room, tripping on the rug at the entrance and springing up before anyone could even react. He certainly was his mother's daughter in that regard. "Uncle Harry!"

Harry scooped his godson into a hug. "How've you been, kiddo?" Already, he could tell by Teddy's pink hair that the boy was in a particularly bubbly mood.

"I have a new nose!" Teddy declared proudly, tilting his head up so that Harry could admire his beak-like snout. "See?"

"I see," Harry nodded, shooting his godson a wide smile.

The boy noticed Draco, standing awkwardly by the entrance. "Who's this?"

"Teddy, say hello to your cousin, Draco." From behind Teddy's back, Harry beckoned for Draco to come closer, which the blond did hesitantly.

"I didn't know I had a cousin Draco!" Teddy cried.

Draco gave him a nervous smile and held out his hand, but to his surprise, Teddy charged forward and pulled Draco into an enthusiastic hug.

"Teddy!" Andromeda scolded from the doorway.

"It's okay," Draco said from over the boy's shoulder. He knelt down so that he was at Teddy's level. "Did you know that my mother is your grandmother's sister?"

"No way!" Teddy exclaimed. "Did you know my parents?"

Andromeda opened her mouth to intervene, but Harry held her back. _Let him do this_, he signaled silently. Call it a test of sorts.

Draco hesitated. "Well, I didn't know your mother, but your father taught me during my third year at Hogwarts."

"Really?" Teddy bounced up and down excitedly. "He taught my Uncle Harry at Hogwarts too! Were you in Uncle Harry's class?"

"I was a Slytherin, but we were in the same year."

Teddy grinned. "Grandma was a Slytherin too. But my dad was a Gryffindor like Uncle Harry, and my mom, she was a Hufflepuff!"

Draco opened his mouth, and for a moment, Harry was terrified Draco would say something insulting about the House_. _To his surprise, Draco replied, "Well, maybe you'll complete the circle and be a Ravenclaw. You seem to be pretty smart for your age."

Teddy puffed out his chest and, taking advantage of Draco's attention, began showing him all the tricks he'd learned to do with his hair. Draco oohed and awed at all the right moments, showering the boy with attention and holding back any snide results about the boy's parentage.

Andromeda watched from the doorway, tears brimming in her eyes. "How did this happen?"

"How did what happen?" Harry asked innocently.

She gave him a look. "You know what I'm talking about."

Harry tried to shrug casually, but Andromeda was a Slytherin for a reason. "Let's just say, you should keep writing letters to your sister. One of them will make its way there eventually."

"Mmm," Andromeda sounded. "Before or after you're in-laws?"

Harry blushed, and of course, Draco chose that moment to look over Teddy's shoulder. "Something the matter, Potter?" he shouted across the room.

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned back to Andromeda. "At this rate? Definitely before."

~D~H~

Harry eventually took Teddy aside to play Exploding Snaps and let Draco and Andromeda talk for a good hour. By the end of it, they seemed to be on good terms, since they shook hands as they left the house, with Draco promising to return next time Harry came to visit.

"We need to get rid of that grandfather clock as soon as possible," Draco said as soon as they got home.

Harry blinked. Of all the things he had expected Draco to say, that certainly wasn't one of them. "Why?"

"We can't invite a five-year-old to stay over in a house that has a clock that shoots arrows at you whenever you pass!" Draco cried. "It would be incredibly irresponsible. And we'll have to seal off your godfather's room. I understand it has sentimental value, but scantily clad women on motorcycles simply aren't appropriate for a child Teddy's age. Not to mention they make me want to vomit."

Harry smiled, wondering if Draco realized what he'd just said. _We_. Then, Harry realized something else he'd just said. "Why would they make you want to vomit? Because they're Muggles?" He'd thought Draco had gotten over hating everything Muggle-related after he'd introduced him to the television, but maybe he was having some sort of a relapse.

Draco studied him quizzically. "You really are that thick, aren't you?" He shook his head at Harry's confused expression. "I'm gay, Potter."

Harry tried not to look elated. He must not have succeeded entirely, because Draco was smirking. "Now help me with that clock before it shoots me."

As he ascended the stairs, Harry could have sworn Draco was intentionally moving in a way that drew more attention to his arse than usual. As a result, he didn't hear most of Draco's grand plans for renovating the place. An arrow whizzing in his direction brought his focus back as Draco exclaimed, "We could even get him a dog!"

"Let me guess: a Crup?" Harry grimaced, thinking of how Toothless would tower over Teddy. "You had a Crup when you were younger, didn't you?"

"No. Just the peacocks. I hated them. Then again, I still hate birds." He laughed at the double meaning, not noticing Harry's jaw drop behind him.

"You didn't have a Crup?"

"No," Draco repeated slowly, as if he were talking to a two-year-old. "I may not have been fond of Muggles, but I wasn't any fonder of drooling beasts that shed all over my clothes. Honestly, Potter, I didn't think you were one to buy into stereotypes."

Harry kept a neutral expression for Draco's sake, but inside, his stomach churned. The haunting line from Draco's last letter repeated in his mind: _I think I'll try my Crup next._

The letters weren't from Draco.

* * *

**Is anyone else curious how Toothless from **_**How To Train Your Dragon**_** would look as a dog? Since all Crups are required to get their second tail amputated, I found it only fitting to make him a Crup. Who do you think is trying to kill Draco? Who is writing these letters? Who is writing reviews? Wait, what?**


	6. The Letter L

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!**

_Dear Scarhead,_

_What are you waiting for? Do I have to do all the work? You stupid son of a Mudblood. Father was right about you. You are lazy and useless and stupid. I hope the monster eats you._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry peeked over the tip of the letter to where Draco sat stirring his coffee, sneaking an extra spoonful of cream. How had he ever been fooled into thinking this man, with his dandelion bed head and coffee foam on his lips, could have written the letters?

_Because_, his mind reminded him, _he wasn't always this man._

It made him angry to think how much he'd let the fake letters influence his actions. It would have only taken that one word in Draco's handwriting, _Mudblood_, to have him second-guessing what Draco really thought about Teddy's Muggleborn grandfather. Even if the letters had been real, he shouldn't have put so much trust into fifteen-year-old letters. Merlin knew what he had written at that age.

That was another problem. Susan had confirmed that the letter was fifteen years old. Then again, Susan was married to Blaise Zabini, who had to know more about the letters than he was telling. But what motive would Zabini (or Susan—he could have used her as secretary to get around the Veritas paper) have to write the letters? Even in pureblood culture, the peacock mutilation would have cast Draco in a bad light. Unless Zabini was trying to drum up business in the most inefficient way possible, he had no reason for wanting to hurt his friend. Besides, Zabini would have known Draco hadn't had a Crup when he was little.

If not Zabini, then who?

On his way to work, he stopped at a bakery and purchased the most expensive dark chocolate he could find as a thank you to Draco for being on his best behavior and not because he felt guilty about believing the horrid letters. He must have felt guilty about lying to himself, though, because he bought Ron and Brian a box of doughnuts each.

Brian jumped as Harry dropped the donuts on his desk. "Isn't it my job to get you food?"

"I have a different job for you." The intern leaned closer, casting a shadow of his paperwork. Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. "I totally forgot Hermione's baby shower was coming up, and I have no idea what to get her. Or am I supposed to get something for the baby?"

Brian's shoulders slouched a few inches. Most people would jump at the chance to do Harry Potter's shopping. That Brian was disappointed spoke volumes about his character, which was one of the reasons Harry had confided in him. It wasn't like he could ask Ron, and he didn't trust any of Draco's suggestions. "Both, I think. Er, it isn't an actual shower."

Harry gave the intern a small knock on the head. "Just start brainstorming." He grimaced at the paperwork littering the desk. There were advantages to having illegible handwriting. "I'll try to get you some fieldwork soon."

Brian's eyes lit up like Teddy's did when encountering a new toy. "Thanks, Auror Potter!"

Harry found himself smiling as the intern fumbled through his papers, religiously clearing a small rectangle for the box of doughnuts. Licking the powdered sugar off his fingers, Harry entered his office, stuffing another doughnut in his mouth before extending the box to Ron.

"They found another dead body," Ron said.

The doughnut crumbled apart in his mouth. "Same MO?"

Ron nodded grimly. For the past month, they'd uncovered three bodies, each bearing a different letter carved into their chest: R, A, C, and H. "An E. Looks like Gregson was right about Rachel."

"Don't be stupid," came a voice from behind them. Harry turned to find Hermione standing in the doorway. Or rather, Hermione and baby-to-be, he corrected, taking note of her swollen stomach. "Rache. It's German for revenge."

"Huh. That does make a lot more sense," Ron admitted before doing a double take. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong with the baby? Do I have to donate a kidney— I'd gladly donate a kidney— does our baby even have kidneys yet?"

"Ronald! Your babbling is going to make me go into pre-mature labor!"

Unfortunately, the only part of that Ron seemed to have heard was "labor." He leapt out of his chair and grabbed their emergency portkey to St. Mungo's. He might have activated it too, had Hermione not grabbed it out of his hand. "I'm not in labor, you idiot! I'm here to remind you about our pregnancy class tonight! Which you are clearly in need of," she muttered.

"Oh." Ron had the decency to look embarrassed. "Right. I'll be there. Promise."

"Good," she said. "Because they're covering Lamaze breathing, and I have a feeling you might need it more than I will." She smiled at Harry. "Are we still on for dinner two weeks from now?"

"Of course," Harry replied.

Hermione beamed. "Great! There's this new Gumbo recipe I've been dying to try. The doctor recommended 8 to 12 ounces of seafood a week, after all, and I've been craving something spicy all week."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief as she left. "I don't know how much more I can take of it!"

Harry frowned. "Spicy food?"

"No! Well, yes, although the ketchup on toast is worse. I mean the waiting! I think I'm going to have a mental breakdown!" Ron collapsed on his chair.

Harry patted his back. "Cheer up, mate. At least now we have a great new lead on the case."

"Yeah," Ron moped. "Someone is killing these people for revenge. Really blows the case right open."

Harry tried to look on the bright side. "At least we know they speak German."

"Or Hermione's wrong, and I owe Gregson ten galleons," Ron replied glumly.

"Well, what if it's an anagram?" Harry suggested, ignoring the fact that the Auror department probably shouldn't have a betting pool on serial killers. "Maybe the letters are out of order. Instead of Rache, it could spell… Car he? Ach er? Oooh, I've got it! Reach!"

Ron stared at him. "Yeah, that's a reach alright."

"Oh, shut up," Harry muttered as he grabbed his coat. "Come on. Let's go check out the crime scene."

Unfortunately, the crime scene didn't bear much fruit. Besides the letters, the victims didn't seem to share anything in common, aside from the fact they were all wizards and witches in their twenties. Aside from that, they were all different genders, body types, and races. None of them shared the same occupation or social circles.

"This guy's a real pro," Auror Gregson commented. "Didn't leave any traces on the crime scene."

"It has to be the letters," Harry said, craning his mind to think of possibilities. It seemed that everything in his life lately came down to some kind of letter. "A Cher?"

"What's a Cher?"

"Japanese fashion brand," Harry answered automatically. "They have very nice canvas bags."

Ron eyed him carefully. "And you know this because…?"

Because Draco kept leaving his fashion tabloids all over the house. "Er… no reason," Harry lied. "Besides, it probably says… chare." Ron looked at him skeptically. "Our killer could just be a really bad speller."

"Maybe we're looking for a guy named Harec," Ron suggested. "That could be a name, right?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Gregson cried. "It clearly spells Rachel!"

"Ha! You're not getting those galleons that— whoa!"

Before Harry could see what had caused Ron's reaction, his world turned black. The last thing he remembered was hoping he didn't crush the dark chocolate, still in his pocket from that morning.

~D~H~

"Harry. Harry. Harry…"

He let out a groan as his eyes fluttered open. Had Draco had another nightmare? Was that why it was all black out? He blinked a few times before he realized that face in front of him didn't belong to the blond.

"What happened?" he asked Ron as he tried to sit up. He only got about an inch of the ground before his body gave out on him, sending him thudding against the rock hard floor of the– what was it, a cave?

"Jelly-leg jinx," Ron informed him glumly.

Harry swore. He could never remember the counter-curse to that one for some reason. Not that it would do any good without their wands. "Where's Gregson?"

"Right here." The voice split through the cave, right before a bright light blinded him. Harry gasped as soon as his eyes adjusted.

"You!" he exclaimed, staring at Auror with wide eyes. "You're the ABC Killer!" Gregson didn't deny it, merely grinning at the accusation. Harry shook his head in attempts to get rid of his growing headache. "I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, betting when you already know the outcome is such bad taste," Ron complained. Harry let out a small growl. "Er, and murdering people. That's bad too."

"Should've said that Rachel when died," Gregson hissed. He paused when they didn't react. "You know Rachel. She went to Hogwarts." Harry and Ron frowned and exchanged a look. "In Slytherin?" They shook their heads. Gregson looked furious. "She was in the dueling club with you your second year!"

"Oh, you mean the one where I spoke to the snake Dra— er, Malfoy summoned, and everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin?"

"That's all you remember?" Even though an invisible barrier separated them, Harry swore he could feel Gregson's spit on his face. "She came in third place in the end of the year dueling competition!" His eyes glazed over. "Beat me with a classic Bat-Bogey hex. She offered me her handkerchief afterwards. Wasn't long before I asked her out." He jabbed his wands at them. "We were going to get married! But the Snatchers got her— because of you!"

Personally, Harry thought his logic was flawed, but that seemed to be the least of their problems. "What about all those other innocent people? None of them had any connection to the Snatchers."

Ron made a sound from the other side of the room, seeming to come to a realization. "It's not the letters. It's the dueling club, that's what they've all got in common. They were all members."

Gregson graced them with an evil grin. "Well done, Weasley. No wonder it's taken so long to bring my poor Rachel to justice."

"Killing more people won't bring Rachel back to life," Harry said, trying to reason with him. "The war trials…"

"Don't talk to me about the trials!" Gregson roared. "It's not the criminals who are the problem, it's the people like you! All the people the Snatchers didn't get! Why should they live and Rachel die? Not when she was so much better than all of them."

Harry winced. He really had to talk to Robards about reworking the psych evaluation Aurors had to take to pass training. "Looks like you've got yourself a problem, Gregson," he said. "Someone's going to miss us at the office."

"Yeah, and I've got Lamaze breathing at five!" Ron tagged on. Then, he added, almost to himself, "Please tell me it's not five yet. Hermione will kill me if you don't."

Gregson sneered at them. "Oh, you're not getting out of it that easily. I never said the Snatchers killed her now, did I?"

"Actually," Ron said, "I think you did say that."

Gregson grinned. "They starved her first. Did other unthinkable things to her too. You're lucky that I don't swing that way." Extinguishing the light, he started to walk down the passage. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go sharpen my blades."

Ron's stomach chose that moment grumble. "I can't believe we trusted that guy!" he complained, rolling over to his back.

Experimentally, Harry tried flexing each and every one of his appendages. Nothing moved. He could roll around a bit, but Gregson had sealed off the passageway with an invisible barrier. One that stung when you banged into it repeatedly. He and Ron rattled possible escape plans off one by one to no avail. After what seemed like hours, they were both exhausted and out of ideas.

"My baby's never going to know me," Ron whispered. Harry swore he could see tears in his friend's eyes. "Merlin, Harry, I'm never going to know her!"

"You will," Harry reassured him, rather hypocritically, since the same doubts were plaguing his mind. What was going to happen to Draco if they never got out of here? He'd probably be okay— Harry had left the house to Teddy in his will, should anything happen, but surely Andromeda would let him stay in it if he wanted, after what had happened yesterday. He thanked Merlin that he hadn't pushed the visit off for a week, as he did sometimes. He was glad to have gotten to see Teddy one last time, but more importantly, he was glad to have forged a bond between Draco and Andromeda.

But it was the bond he'd formed with Draco that he thought about the most. It hurt to think about all the times they'd almost touched. All the times they had touched and hadn't gone further. All the times he hadn't told Draco he…

Frustrated, Harry banged his head against the floor. If he got out of this alive, he was going to stop skating around the issue and act like the Gryffindor he was. Draco lived in his house. Sometimes, he slept in his bed. Taking their relationship to the next step would practically be a step backwards in their case.

"Ron, this is going to sound weird, but do you think you could reach into my coat pocket with your mouth?"

"Why? What's in there? Gregson summoned anything that could be used as a weapon away when we got here."

"I don't think chocolate counts as a weapon."

Ron didn't need to be asked twice. "Pfff! Lint. Uh… I'm not finding any— Oh, here's someth— bloody hell!"

Two figures darted out of the pocket and hopped across Ron's face. "Scorpius? Al?" Harry's jaw dropped in disbelief, which turned out to be a mistake when Al zoomed into his open mouth, sticking out like a pacifier.

Gagging, Harry spat out the doorknob, which let out a groan. It spiraled like a top then collapsed on the floor, leaving a trail of rust in its wake. "I don't feel so good."

"No lake!" Scorpius pouted, oblivious to their predicament. "Your real estate choices leave much to be desired."

Ron's limbs wobbled uselessly as he tried to swat Scorpius away. "What in Merlin's name are they doing in your pocket?" He tried blowing Scorpius away to no avail.

Harry planted his face in the ground. "I should have never told them I was going to the bakery."

"This doesn't look like any bakery I've ever seen," Albus protested. Given how sick the doorknob looked, Harry didn't see how the doorknob could possibly be thinking of food. "Then again, I've never seen a bakery."

"And you never will if we don't get out of this mess." As demanding as they could be, their resistance to magic could be useful against Gregson. "Al, Scorpius— do you think you could get through this shield?"

From his expression, Ron could have been viewing the grizzly crime scene from earlier. "You gave the things names?" He frowned. "Of course, Scorpius sounds more like a disease…"

"Cooties!" Scorpius pounced on Ron, who predictably began flailing around as if in an epileptic fit.

Harry groaned. Beside him, Albus threw up.

A sudden light broke up the fight and sent everyone ducking for cover. (Harry rather wished Albus had chosen a spot that wasn't in his trousers; Gregson might think Harry was excited to see him.)

Moving deliberately, Gregson used his blade as a walking stick. "You know, I normally do this part post-mortem," he announced, stroking the curved handle. "But for you, I'm going to make an exception."

Harry gulped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scorpius inching towards the shield. If only he could get Gregson to lower it for a second… "You can't."

Gregson raised his eyebrow. "Oh, really? And why's that?"

"Because there's two of us," he blurted. "And only one letter left."

Ron seemed pick up on his line of thought. "Yeah, which one of us is going to be the L?"

"Easy," Gregson replied, turning towards Ron, who paled considerably. "Think that betting on my fiancée is so funny now?"

Harry spoke up. "Now, now, that's not what Rachel would have wanted, would she?" He could see that the mere name of his dead fiancée angered the Auror. Good. He wanted the Auror in an irrational mind frame. Irrational people made mistakes. "You said it yourself, Gregson. She was a dueler. She would have wanted us to duel for it."

A spark lit up in Gregson's eyes. "That is true," he said, pacing around the cave. "Although neither of you is anywhere near her level."

"True," Harry replied, although he internally rolled his eyes. He'd defeated Voldemort, for Merlin's sake, what sort of credentials was this man looking for?

Gregson studied them carefully. "It would be entertaining," he said slowly, a smirk growing on his face. "Okay. Let's do it." He began to remove their restraints. "Don't think you can escape. There are anti-Apparation wards all over the place, and nothing gets through my shield." He must have been pretty confident in his plan, if he was really planning on handing over their wands to them.

He retreated behind the shield before releasing their wands. As the pieces of wood raced through the shield, Harry swore he saw two specks in the darkness, zipping across the cave.

"Alright, let's see it! And if I think you two aren't trying, well…" Gregson chuckled. "This shield may stop spells from going out, but it won't stop spells from going in."

As loudly as possible, Harry turned to face Ron and assumed what he hoped was a menacing expression. "_Melofors_!"

A giant pumpkin bloomed around Ron's head so that the redhead resembled a jack o'lantern. Voice echoing, Ron shouted, "Are you mental?"

From behind the shield, Gregson clapped his hands. "Well done! Rachel would have used a watermelon, of course, but—" He sniffed the air. "What _is_ that smell?"

"Sorry!" a sheepish shout came. Gregson whirled around, only to be knocked to the ground by two rambunctious doorknobs, whose fangs had grown to the size of nails. Wincing, Harry watched as one of Gregson's ear spattered into the shield, leaving a brief trail of blood as it slid down the invisible barrier.

"No!" Gregson's incoherent shouts suggested that he'd just lost his nose as well. "It doesn't end like this! _Calligraphus_!"

At the same time, Harry raised his wand to shield everyone from Gregson's curse. Albus and Scorpius were flung against the shield and clattered to the ground. No further impact came. Amidst the cloud of dust, the screaming stopped abruptly.

When the dust cleared, Harry saw that Gregson had finished his tribute to Rachel after all. The fact that he'd chosen to carve the L on his own forehead considerably lessened the impact.

"Albus! Scorpius!" He reached forward, only to be repulsed by the shield. Amidst the rubble, he saw Scorpius leaning over Albus, who was using Gregson's ear as a pillow. The doorknob had a pale sheen to him. Had the spell ripped him apart as well? Scorpius's expression was grim as he turned to face Harry.

"Albus has gas," he complained.

Ripping a hole in his pumpkin, Ron peered at Gregson's body. "Is he dead?"

"As a doornail," Harry confirmed.

Scorpius frowned. "But I thought we killed him."

To pay his respects, Albus hobbled over to the corpse and released the contents of his stomach (or at least, that's what Harry hoped it was) into Gregson's mouth.

"Harry?" Ron squeaked. "If he's dead, how are we getting out of here?"

"Please. You don't really think his shield is that strong, do you?"

~D~H~

It was. They had been missing for three days by the time they got out of the cave. Hermione went into contractions the moment she saw Ron, sending the three of them to St. Mungo's for an incredibly stressful five hours. It ended up being a false alarm, the contractions stopping as soon as she calmed down. When the doctor cleared them to go, Harry had sent Ron home with his wife, agreeing to fill out the paperwork for the both of them.

As he sat down to write, he noticed "Draco's" letters sitting to the side. Had he really left them out in the open like that? _Focus on your paperwork. The sooner you finish it, the sooner you can see the real Draco._

He was still filling out the first page when there was a knock on his door. "Night crew."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to dismiss the janitor, when the voice registered in his mind. _Draco_.

Sure enough, the blond walked through the door. His toolbox dropped from his hand when he saw Harry sitting in the chair. "You're… you're…"

Harry pushed his chair back with a little too much force, sending it crashing against the window. He'd been preparing for this encounter over and over in his head while he was filling out paperwork. Robards was going to have some questions for him when he reviewed it, such as why Harry had written "you have good hair" under "Describe the perpetrator." But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was Draco. "Draco…"

The blond kicked his toolbox, setting the Gimmicks orb loose and sending it straight at Harry, who managed to duck just in time.

"Three days!" Draco towered over him, fury alight in his eyes. For the first time in months, Harry could see the Death Eater in Draco. It excited him. "You're missing for three whole days, and you thought filling out your paperwork was more important than flooing home, or Merlin forbid, writing a letter telling me you're okay?"

"No!" Harry dodged the orb. "Speaking of how important you are, there's actually something I'd like to tell—"

"You never fill out your paperwork!"

"Look, I'm sorry. I—"

Draco snatched the orb out of the air and pushed Harry against the window glass. "Since you obviously don't think it's important to tell me what happened to you, I'll tell you what happened to me while you were gone. That bloody oaf Hagrid dropped off his stupid pet, and I let it eat your loafers! The Chardonnay ones!"

"Draco…" The blond's rant was spectacular, but all Harry could focus on were those lips. Chapped and hastily glossed over with some gel. Puckered in rage but with room for improvement. And closer with every breath.

"… and I painted the drawing room a horrid shade of Slytherin green that you're going to hate!"

Harry swallowed the rest of Draco's rant with his mouth.

* * *

**Since the specific case was irrelevant to the overall plot, I decided to base it very loosely on **_**A Study in Scarlet **_**(and **_**A Study in Pink**_**)****to spread the **_**Sherlock**_** love around. (Remember Gregson from a few chapters ago?) How do you think Draco is going to react to the kiss?**


	7. The Very Secret Valentine

**I was wowed by the responses to last chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! In Draco's note later this chapter, the words in bold italics were parts that Draco wrote and then crossed out.**

Draco's tongue danced across Harry's lips for a moment before the blond realized what was happening and clamped his mouth shut. Harry couldn't tell if he was smiling or pouting, but his lips felt far too soft to be pressed in a frown. Struck by a sudden boldness, Harry curled his arm around Draco's back to pull him closer. Draco blinked and kept his eyes shut. He looked as if he were dreaming.

Then something bit Harry. And it wasn't Draco.

"Gah!" Harry jerked back, only to find Albus hanging from his finger. "Mmphguh," the doorknob said behind clenched teeth.

"Hey! I wanna see!" Scorpius shouted from Harry's other pocket. "Are they using tongue? You owe me twenty fruit flies if they're using tongue!"

Draco's hand flew to his mouth, rubbing his lips, as if to wipe away the kiss. _Or spread it onto his fingers_, Harry thought optimistically. At least Draco seemed more shocked than disgusted, although his nose wrinkled at the smell. Harry was about to scold Albus when he realized that he'd just transferred all the blood and dirt from his shirt onto Draco's undoubtedly expensive robes. "Oh, Merlin, I am so… I can pay for the dry cleaning bill. And a new set of robes."

As if his glare weren't enough to convey his response, Draco threw off his robes, leaving him standing in the middle of Harry's office wearing nothing but his trousers.

Those came off as soon as they apparated into Harry's bedroom. As their backs hit the mattress, Draco grabbed Harry, who feared for a second that the blond was trying to strangle him. He was able to dismiss that thought rather quickly. Draco wouldn't be dumb enough to strange him in his own house. Or to start snoring while he was doing so.

Harry adjusted his position within the stranglehold— had he valued his private parts less, he would have called it a cuddle— and joined Draco in his slumber. As his eyes shut, he swore he saw two shadows tip toeing across the room and nesting in the folds of the covers.

~D~H~

The first thing Harry noticed when he woke up was that he was alone. He didn't find that unusual until memories from last night started going off like an alarm in his head. He slid out of bed and noticed the covers had been thrown into a lump on the floor. It seemed strange behavior from someone like Draco, who even folded his underwear. (Harry didn't want to get into how he knew that except that it had been a legitimately accidental discovery.) He only relaxed when the scent of coffee and vanilla drifted up the stairs. Draco insisted coffee had been discovered by a potions master who had been duped into sharing his recipes with a devious Muggle (as if there were any other kind).

Sure enough, he found Draco in the kitchen, topping off a latte with a layer of whipped cream. "Hey," Harry said.

Draco avoided his gaze, focusing instead on perfecting his swirl of whipped cream. "Morning."

Harry cleared his throat. "So. Er. Did you sleep well?"

"I don't know, Potter. Did I?"

Harry's heart sank. Were they back to Potter now? Or had they never left it in the first place? "Look, Draco, I'm sorry—"

Draco rolled his eyes. Harry winced, remembering how much the blond hated that particular combination of words. He had his best sulk face on— Harry had names for all of them. This one looked like a mash-up of _How Dare You Wear the Same Shirt As Me, You Hag_ and _We're Out of Coffee_. Since the latter clearly wasn't the case, this meant bad news indeed. "Big Bad Death Eater doesn't need to be handled with kid gloves. Just say what you have to say, and be done with it."

"Okay." Harry took a deep breath— why did Malfoy have to use a metaphor that involved him being handled right before Harry was about to make the biggest confession of his life?— then blurted, "I like you."

Draco froze. Then, in a very calculated motion, he took a sip of his coffee, swallowed, and exhaled deeply. Harry winced. _Here it comes…_

"Could you repeat that?"

"Er… I like you," Harry repeated slowly. "I like you, and I've liked you for a long time."

Draco's mouth parted just enough for Harry to see his teeth, which of course, were perfect, except for the small one on the left that looked a little fang-like. "Did Weasley pay you to say that? I didn't think he think he could afford it. But I suppose, with Granger—"

"No one is paying me to say anything." If he took the time to scold Draco for making fun of Ron, then he might lose to courage to tell Draco how he felt. "I know, you think it's crazy, and I did too at first. I thought it was just a physical thing that would go away with time. But it didn't. And now I know why."

He took a seat beside Draco and grabbed his hand. Draco gave a half-hearted tug toward his coffee but otherwise let Harry caress his fingers. "You're as clever as Hermione, but whether you use it to invent a potion that cures cancer or spew out creative insults is anyone's guess. You have this bourgeoisie attitude that I just don't understand, but it's either incredibly impressive or incredibly insulting. You always want to be the best, which means you're either full of it or working your arse off trying to be a good student, janitor, cousin even. You… you're… you're so irritating!"

"Oh, thank Merlin," Draco sighed. "I thought you were professing your love to me."

Harry threw up his arms. "See? That! That is why I fell in love with you! You are an arsehole, and for some reason, I like it!"

Draco's lips twitched into a smirk as he took a sip of his coffee in attempts to hide his amusement, unsuccessfully.

Harry shook his head. "You know, I only say those kinds of things in front of you."

"Good," Draco replied, suddenly pushing his mug aside and sliding himself closer to Harry. He whispered in Harry's ear: "Because I don't like sharing."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Does this mean…?"

Draco answered by pulling into the best snog of his entire life.

~D~H~

"Say cheddar!" Arthur Weasley announced before pressing the button. The camera flashed in his face as a picture of squinted eyes printed out the other side. "Huh. There appears to be something wrong with the cameron."

"Camera," Hermione corrected from her chair in the middle of the group posing for the picture. "You have to turn it around."

"Oh, I see!" Mr. Weasley flipped it upside down and snapped a picture of the grass.

The group groaned. Harry exchanged an amused glance with Hermione, who was starting to regret inviting her Muggle relatives to her baby shower. Mr. Weasley, of course, was thrilled to soak up the culture, to the point that Hermione had had to make up several diseases that her father-in-law supposedly suffered from which made him so eccentric.

"Oh, bollocks," Mr. Weasley sighed. "There's a red light that's blinking. Should I attach one of my plugs to it?"

"Actually," Ron interrupted, "why don't we do pictures after we eat? That way we'll all have food babies and look more like my Hermione."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione giggled. Behind their backs, Harry made a face and prayed that if he ever got that way, Draco would hit him. Odds were, he would; he did it enough anyway. Just thinking about it made Harry blush. He hadn't brought the blond to the baby shower, of course. There was no need to be responsible for the premature birth of his goddaughter.

In the middle of his own grimace, George caught his eye and headed over to join Harry. Aside from Harry and their younger nieces and nephews, he was the only one here without a date, a subject that worried his parents to no end. They thought it had to do with Fred. They had also thought that Harry would propose to Ginny as soon as they were both out of school, but in this case, Harry suspected Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were right.

George handed Harry a glass of Firewhisky. "If you're going to be sick, might as well have a reason for it, eh?"

"You didn't have to be stuck in a cave with him when he thought he was going to starve to death."

George grimaced. "I don't know which is worse, lovesick Ron or Ron without food."

They laughed as Ron chose that exact moment to choke on one of the shrimp Hermione dropped into his mouth. Apparently, she was still working up to that gumbo recipe.

Sipping his Firewhiskey, Harry turned away from the lovers. "What have you been up to, George? I feel like we haven't talked as much lately."

George waved his hand. "Oh, the usual business. Still working out the kinks in those 'I Can't Believe It's Not Stutter' Quills."

"You mean they weren't supposed to turn my letters into nonsensical garble?"

George grinned. "They were. I was just hoping it might do other things as well."

Usually, Harry got a laugh out of George's pranks, but the odd glint in George's eye made him wary. "Like?"

George shrugged. "I'll let you know when they start working."

Harry made a note not to borrow George's writing utensils anytime soon. "Alright. What about things besides work?"

George tilted his head. "What do you mean, Harry? I play all day."

Although Harry believed it, he shoved George anyway. "You know what I mean. Met anyone lately?"

George fluttered his eyes. "Why, Harry, I didn't think you were interested."

"I'm not— I'm just making conversation."

"You know, that used to be a synonym for sex in Victorian times."

Harry planted his palm against his forehead. "I drop the subject." An idea struck him. "But if you haven't met anyone new, maybe you should think of reconnecting with someone from Hogwarts. Not to—'make conversation' with. Just, you know, to talk to."

George laughed. "Fantastic idea, Harry. Tea with Millicent Bullstrode. African safari with Romilda Vane. Sausage festival with Draco Malfoy."

"I was thinking more along the lines of coffee with Angelina Johnson, but anything can happen." Thinking about Draco in relation to sausages forced him to resort to the cliché.

"Malfoy it is then," George proclaimed. "Do you think he's more of a brat or chorizo guy? Then there's the toppings. Sour kraut, no doubt, sprinkled with Slytherin green relish."

"Uh…" George had lost him at the word "toppings."

"Then," George continued, "maybe we could talk about how he poisoned my brother, let a werewolf that maim my other brother, killed—" He drew in a sharp breath. "_Fought _beside the man who killed my other, other brother."

Apparently, even now, he couldn't bring himself to say Fred's name. He downed the rest of his glass and with it, the rest of his tirade. "Anything he has to say to me, he can say to my left ear." George turned his head to showcase the giant hole in his head, which admittedly would have been more effective if he hadn't been using it to carry his napkin.

Harry bit his tongue, which ached to defend Draco. He had been young, brainwashed, lonely, and afraid. But those were excuses, not defenses. And this wasn't about Draco, but about George. Or rather, Fred. The two had always been indistinguishable.

George lifted his finger. "And another thing, Romilda Vane has…"

Harry handed George his glass. "I get it. It's not of my business. But…" Harry stood up. "Most of the things that make life worth living aren't business at all."

George shrugged. "You, my friend, don't work in a joke shop." He tipped his glass in the air. "Being single—" He winced at his own word choice. "—a bachelor isn't so bad. You would know that. Right?"

Had there ever been a time when not so bad sounded good? Harry suppressed a sigh. "Right."

~D~H~

"Well, that's wrong." Harry sat, cross-legged on his study floor, examining the sheet of parchment laid out in front of him. Beside him, Toothless was in the process of drowning the teddy bear Hagrid had sent him in drool.

For weeks, Harry had been attempting to replicate the Animal Artist's process of inserting Toothless into a portrait. Even with Hermione's help, all he had ended up with was some barking parchment and teeth marks on his wrist. Sighing at his latest failed experiment, he turned to a different pile of parchment.

He still hadn't told Draco about the letters. The fact was, for all he'd changed, Draco still had enough pride to form a pack of lions. Harry had kept this secret for too many months for Draco not to feel slighted. What if the letters reminded Draco of their school rivalry? What if he resented Harry for lying to him? It sounded silly in his head but not to his heart. Draco was always more cautious with his affection. Sometimes, the touches in the dark made the blond lash out, and although Harry was almost positive it had nothing to do with him, the fact was, he had been Draco's enemy once.

What if Draco felt that an enemy was all he deserved? It was a dark, dark thought, but Harry couldn't force it out of his mind, not after Draco had talked about not being able to find a pureblood bride so lightly less than a year ago.

He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he'd missed. Had he really left Draco's first letter out on his desk in plain sight? Who would have rifled through his things? Ron had been with him, as had Albus and Scorpius. No one else could bypass the wards on their office.

He was paging aimlessly through the old letters when a memo fell out. At first, he thought he'd misfiled it, but once he read it, he smiled. And read it again. And smiled even more as he got up and searched for Draco.

Draco rearranged the papers he was working on when he saw Harry approach. "What's that?" he asked as Harry waved the memo in the air.

"The memo you sent me before we went out to dinner that first time. It made me realize something."

A brief look of panic crossed Draco's face. "What's that?" he repeated with the same airiness.

Harry read the incriminating line. "_I might conveniently teach it to regale you with certain love ballads comparing your eyes to a fresh pickled toad and the sort. _Funny how you remember that word for word."

"It was funny," Draco replied, seeming to relax, "watching the Weaselette embarrass herself like that."

"Sure," Harry agreed. "Except it wasn't from her."

Draco frowned. "Of course it was. She admitted to it."

"As I recall, you were the one who said it was from her," Harry replied, resting his neck on Draco's shoulder. "You said I must not have liked her Valentine very much."

"Mmmm, and now we all know why," Draco said, attempting to pull Harry into a kiss.

Harry skillfully— and regretfully— dodged his lover. "You know what was the dead giveaway?" He leaned in close so that his breath whistled against Draco's ear. "You called him the Dark Lord. Only Death Eaters call him the Dark Lord."

Draco scowled. "Dead for five years, and he's still ruining my life. Fine. I sent you the Valentine. But only to humiliate you in front of everyone. I sure as hell didn't have a crush on you."

Harry smirked. "Sure you didn't. That's why you pretended it was from Ginny when I didn't show any interest in it."

"All part of my master plan! And besides, can you blame me for using the Dark Lord? I mean, what rhymes with Vol—?" Draco cut himself off abruptly, the color draining from his face. Harry wondered if he'd ever spoken it aloud before. If it were anyone else, he'd say it three times in succession, just to prove the point that the name wasn't poisonous. But for Draco, a single syllable was a victory.

Harry tried to lighten the mood. "Sweetheart, you ended up going with blackboard. Clearly you weren't being too picky."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, and then: "Sweetheart?"

"You have so many creative names for me, don't I deserve a few?"

"Not ones that make me sound like a Hufflepuff! I'm not _that_ in love with you."

"Ha!" Harry jumped up triumphantly. "You just admitted you were in love with me."

"I thought that much was obvious," Draco said, snuggling closer to him. "Then again, I always said you were an idiot."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe I need it spelled out."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Poor baby. You want me to send you another Valentine?" Not waiting for a response, he pulled out a quill and scribbled a few lines on some parchment. After a few minutes and several revisions, he handed it back to Harry. "Here you go, _sweetheart_."

_His eyes are as green as _**_Avada Kedavra_**_ an avocado._

_His hair is as dark as _**_my Dark Mark_**_ Snape's (who doesn't use shampoo)._

_I wish he was mine— no, wait, he is mine,_

_The hero who conquered _**_my heart_**_ You-Know-You, times two._

_Now let's go screw._

"How romantic," Harry said. "And mildly disturbing."

"Me in a nutshell," Draco replied. "Did you read the last line?"

Harry nodded and took up the suggestion. But that didn't mean he was going to forget about the rest of the note, a manifestation of Draco's nightmares. One of these days, Harry was going to broach the topic. But for now, the best way of healing was to create happy memories to fall back on.

_Memories._

Not expecting Harry's abrupt stop, Draco yanked Harry's arm forward and nearly tripped when the rest of him didn't follow. "What?"

Harry's mind was on the letters again. If he reviewed the memory in a pensive, he would be able to see whether he left the letter out or not. The longer he waited, the cloudier the memory would get.

Harry smiled. "I'm trying to think of something that rhymes with perfection."

Draco shot a pointed glance at his trousers.

They did not make it up the stairs.

~D~H~

"_I totally forgot Hermione's baby shower was coming up, and I have no idea what to get her. Or am I supposed to get something for the baby?"_

Harry wished he could ditch his past self and head straight for the office. Staring at the donuts was making him drool.

"_Both, I think. Er, it isn't an actual shower."_

Harry snorted. This was probably a waste of time. He'd be better off putting his memory from this afternoon in the pensive. The look on Draco's face when he finally realized Harry had been lying about still being able to speak Parseltongue had been priceless.

"_Just start brainstorming."_

And there it was. Only for a split second, but undeniably real.

"_I'll try to get you some fieldwork soon."_

It wasn't his desk that held the answers after all; it was Brian's desk. He had mistaken the intern's hunched shoulders for disappointment, when really, it had been a way of concealing what lay on the desk. Only two words stood out, barely legible in the shadowy haze.

_Draco Malfoy._

* * *

**Thanks again for all the reviews! Hope you enjoyed the fluff!**


	8. The Troll Leg Umbrella Stand

"My first case! Can you believe it, Auror Potter? I mean, technically, I'm just sitting in on the interrogation. But still! Is it a good one? Not that murder is good. I don't want it to be a murder. Just tell me it's not something lame like jaywalking with a broom. Would it be unprofessional to take a picture of myself in the interrogation room?"

"You mean a mugshot?"

Brian chuckled. "Good one, Auror Potter."

Harry's smile stretched thinly across his face. The intern's sunny disposition made it hard to keep him in the dark about the letters. For nearly a year now, Brian had put up with meaningless paperwork, endless coffee runs, and boring meetings with "witnesses" who just wanted to see Harry Potter. He'd even seemed to enjoy it, although Harry knew from personal experience that could hardly be the case. Before using the pensive, Harry had been putting the finishing touches on a letter recommending Brian for special training. As much as Harry wanted to accidentally lose that letter in the mail for fifteen years, he wasn't willing to destroy Brian's future over a prank gone wrong. If that was what it was.

Brian's eyes darted across the empty interrogation room. "Do we do pep talks beforehand?" He winced. "I should call them debriefs, shouldn't I?"

With a sweeping gesture, Harry sent the chair crashing against Brian's legs. "Sit."

Brian obeyed with a grin, which wavered as Harry took the seat opposite him. "Don't the suspects normally sit across from the Aurors?"

Instead of answering, Harry opened his folder and smoothed the fake letters out in front of Brian. "Take a look at these letters." Having memorized them, Harry took the opportunity to study Brian. He was fidgeting in his seat, a classic sign of deception. Yet the beat Brian strummed with his fingers seemed to reflect the nervous, caffeine-driven jitters of an intern on his first case. It didn't feel like the nervous tick of someone trying to conceal a crime.

"What do you make of them?" Harry asked, hoping to spark some sort of response. Preferably, a confession.

Finally, a touch of conflict in Brian's eyes. He refused to meet Harry's eyes, although he looked more reluctant than guilty. "I don't think we have any legal right to arrest Malfoy," Brian said finally.

Harry adjusted his glasses, searching for some sort of sign. Either Brian was a gifted liar, or he really didn't recognize the letters and still believed he'd been assigned to a case.

"He was a minor," Brian continued, "and even without the statute of limitations, we couldn't charge him for breaking House Elf abuse laws that hadn't been created yet. You know, ex post facto." He snorted, gesturing to the letter. "Post. Get it?" When Harry didn't react, he lowered his head. "No jokes during interrogation. Got it."

"So you don't think these letters are jokes?" _Come on, Brian. You know I won't be happy, but if that's all it is, I won't punish you that harshly._

Brian scratched his head. "Er, well, I'm starting to think that this isn't a real case at all, and you're just testing me. Does that count?"

"You've never seen these letters before?"

"No."

Brian's fingers had stopped drumming that nervous tune, dropping instead to his sides. Although he hadn't meant to, Harry found himself leaning halfway across the table, scouring Brian's eyes for any sign of deception. The last time they'd been in this position, Harry had been treating Brian to his first ever foot long sub. Now, with the lights dimmed, it felt like a real interrogation.

"Because I saw something on your desk the other day," Harry said finally. "I didn't get a good look at it, but I recognized the signature."

Brian's mouth fell open. He caught it halfway and readjusted himself on his chair. Harry sat back with folded arms and waited.

"I didn't send you these," Brian said. "You can give me Veritaserum, I swear—"

"What I want is the truth. Without Veritaserum." Harry continued quickly so Brian wouldn't think he doubted him, "So you didn't send the letters. But you were doing something with Draco's signature."

Brian's eyes flickered up at the name. Belatedly, Harry remembered he was supposed to be on a last name basis with Draco. He felt a tinge of pride that he'd trained Brian well enough to notice slip-ups like that. "I was," the intern admitted, lowering his head.

Harry rather missed Brian's babbling. It would have made the interrogation so much easier. About to prod the intern for information, Harry suddenly remembered a second set of mysterious letters that both he and Malfoy had paid little attention to. Letters _to_ Malfoy, not from him.

The pieces clicked into place. "You're the one who's been submitting his name to the committee in charge of Orders of Merlin."

Brian's lips twitched, as if trying not to laugh at a bad joke. Harry rubbed his forehead, not sure whether to feel embarrassed, relieved, or frustrated.

"Why?" he asked. "Why not nominate Voldemort?" Brian winced at the name. In his defense, he had picked the habit up from Ron.

"It's not what you think, Auror Potter," he said quietly.

Harry raised his eyebrow. "You mean the letters were sincere?" Of course, since the letters he'd assumed were real turned out to be fake, it only made sense that the ones he'd written off an amateurish prank were real. Maybe detective work wasn't his calling after all.

"Not really," Brian said, crushing his hopes. "I…" He sighed. "The year you— I was a Second Year at Hogwarts when Malfoy was a Seventh Year." Although the information wasn't new, Harry was still taken aback. The Battle of Hogwarts seemed so long ago that Harry thought Brian had to have been a toddler at the time. Teddy's age, at best. But no— in the dim lighting, Brian looked his age for once. Noticing the shadows under his eyes, Harry finally understood why someone as chipper as Brian had pursued a career as an Auror.

"I avoided the Carrows for the most part. I wasn't a pureblood, so they didn't want to recruit me, and my family was neutral, so they didn't persecute me either. At least, not…" He swallowed. "One night, I fell asleep in the library. I only woke up when one of Malfoy's lackeys knocked over a stack of books."

Hearing Crabbe and Goyle referred to as such made Harry surprisingly sad. They never had had much luck with books in their life.

"I know I didn't make it under the table in time," Brian continued. "My study materials were laid out in plain sight. When Malfoy stopped right in front of my table, I started sobbing, loudly enough that Madam Pince would have kicked me out of the library, if it had been open." Although he said it with a sense of humor, Brian eyed the interrogation table warily, as though it might transform into the one from his story. "Then Malfoy looked into my eyes, and said, 'False alarm.' As if he didn't see me. But I know he did."

There was a grudging admiration in Brian's eyes as he spoke. In his mind, Harry could see Draco standing in front of the table, wearing the same expression he had when he had denied recognizing Harry at Malfoy Manor. His mother had had the same stoniness in her eyes when she had lied to Voldemort's face. It wasn't a heroic expression—that would have given away the bluff. It was the expression of someone who had given up fighting. Of course, Voldemort hadn't considered that Narcissa had given up fighting for him.

Brian's face twisted into a scowl. "And then he made me break out into zits."

The sudden addition made Harry choke on his laughter. Of course. Brian probably thought Draco had done it simply to be cruel, but Harry knew better. Draco wouldn't have been able to lie to his aunt if Hermione hadn't cast the stinging hex on him either. He always needed an insurance policy.

"Don't get me wrong, I hated him and the way he lorded over his power," Brian continued. "But he never went out of his way to be vicious. I think it was because he was too much of a coward, but still." He shrugged. "When Auror Weasley had me sort through old files from the war, I saw the records from his trial. It made me angry. I wish I had been old enough to testify. I don't know whether I would have defended him or condemned him. But after keeping my secret all those years, I just felt I had to do something. And I didn't know what."

Brian sighed, then used the momentum to puff up his shoulders and stare into Harry's eyes. "So I copied his signature and used it to fill out the nomination form. I got to thank him and say screw you at the same time. And I kept doing it because it made me feel better." He added with an ounce of shame, "Plus it was funny."

Although Harry had admittedly laughed when he'd learned about the rejection letters, he didn't now. "I know you didn't mean it to hurt anyone. But when you fill out those forms, you're not just mocking Malfoy. You're disrespecting of all the men and women who actually deserve the award."

Remembering that both of his mentors had won said award, Brian slumped in his chair. "I'm sorry, Auror Potter." His voice wavered as he asked, "Is there any way I could make things right?"

Harry frowned. What Brian had done was immature, but given his record of hard work, Harry didn't want to punish the boy too severely. Humility was a rare trait in Auror trainees, which Brian had in bunches; at the moment, he just happened to be humiliated instead. Sitting at the table now, Harry could see that twelve-year-old boy who had hidden under the table from Draco. Everyone, Harry included, had assumed Brian had gotten away unscarred from the war and had been too young to need counseling. Probably the same people who assumed Draco didn't have nightmares about the war.

"You can start by filling out another one of those nominations," Harry said finally.

Brian looked surprised. "But…"

"Not for an Order of Merlin First Class," Harry continued. "Write about what happened that night and how you feel about it. Say you don't know what would be the proper way to thank Malfoy. And then sign your own name." Brian nodded. Harry could already see a draft unfolding behind the intern's eyes.

"I'd like a copy on my desk by tonight," Harry said, gathering up his files. "I'm disappointed in you. But I understand how you feel." He laid his hand on Brian's shoulder on his way out. "If you ever need to talk…"

Brian nodded, smiling for the first time. "Thanks, Auror Potter."

"Call me Harry."

Brian took advantage of the opportunity earlier than Harry expected. At the call, Harry paused by the doorway.

"What about the other letters?" Brian asked.

A few days ago, he would have welcomed Brian into the investigation. Even now, he didn't doubt that the intern would be professional in his investigation. But after hearing Brian's story, Harry realized he had fallen into the same trap. These letters weren't meant to be part of his work life. They were personal.

"Just an exercise," Harry lied.

Forget his failed investigation. The only bit of useful information he'd gleaned was that the letters were hand delivered.

As he apparated into his house, he called, "Kreacher!"

This time, he would be ready.

~D~H~

"…and on the third day, Ron actually tried eating his shoe. At least, what was left of it after the whole 'Create-a-Portkey' idea blew up in our face. Literally."

Neville roared with laughter as Harry recounted the Rachel misadventure. It was a whole lot funnier telling the story than it had been living it.

"My job isn't half as exciting as yours," the Herbology professor said. "At worst, a First Year starts growing Wormseed out of his bellybutton."

Harry grimaced. "Wormseed? I hope that's a misnomer."

"Actually, it's used in Treacle Fudge." Neville gave him a friendly nudge. "You're much better with plants than you let on." Noticing Harry's frown, he continued, "I noticed you started a garden out front. It's very nice."

"Oh." Of course Neville would notice Draco's potions patch. "Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you."

Neville beamed. "How are you dealing with the Nuria Bactalus?"

"Er… I, uh… sunlight. And water. Lots of water."

Neville gave him an odd look. "It's a weed."

"Oh. Right." Abashed, Harry took a long sip of mead. "It's Kreacher's garden, actually."

"Kreacher's?" Dealing with plants all day made Neville particularly perceptive, more so than Hermione in entertaining unlikely possibilities.

Harry shrugged. "All I know is dinner has started tasting a whole lot better." Which wasn't a lie. Draco wasn't much better of a cook than Harry, but living together had encouraged them to branch out in attempts to impress each other.

Neville hadn't stopped smiling. "Well, you should compliment Kreacheron his Starthistle." It was a polite way of saying, _I'll keep your secret, but I don't believe you for a second._

After Neville took his leave, Harry started clearing off the table. He jumped and hit his head on the cabinet door when a voice beneath him drawled, "Longbottom's right. That is some fine Starthistle." Rubbing his forehead, Harry turned as Draco crawled out from underneath the table, a smirk gracing a face. "We really should give _Kreacher_ a raise."

"Were you there the whole time?" Already, Harry was reviewing everything he and Neville had discussed, thankfully devoid of any embarrassing or sensitive information. Thank Merlin they hadn't broken out the mead earlier.

Draco shrugged. "You didn't give me much warning."

"I thought you were off visiting Pansy!"

"I had to leave early."

"Why?" Harry took another sip of mead. Judging by the depth of Draco's scowl, he'd need it.

"She asked me to marry her."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Only about half of the mead he was in the process of swallowing landed back in the glass. "She _what_?"

Draco's scowl softened. "No need to be jealous, darling. I turned her down, of course."

"But…" Harry sputtered. "She knows that you're…"

"Gay? Of course. That was why she asked." Noticing Harry's baffled expression, Draco smirked. "Didn't you ever wonder why we dated so long at Hogwarts?"

"Pansy Parkinson is a lesbian?"

Draco put a finger to his lips. "Actually, she has a thing for mermen. Of course, if you ask her, she'll claim she was taking pity on me. It doesn't matter. I told her I was dating someone else."

Inexplicably, the words made Harry as terrified as he was proud. "You… you didn't say who, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. She laughed in my face and told me my parents should have named me Pansy if I didn't have the balls to tell her the truth. I pretended to be offended and took my leave." Draco circled around the table, propping his elbow on the counter and leaning against it so that he faced Harry. "You haven't told any of your friends about us."

Harry started playing with a loose string on his shirt. "I wanted to give us a few days of peace without everyone going crazy around us." The excuse sounded weak.

"I'm not just talking about the past week," Draco said. "I'm talking about the past few months." Outside of the house, they lived entirely separate lives. Whenever their paths coincided, such as when it was Malfoy's turn to bail out Gregory Goyle for snorting pixie dust (a biweekly occurrence), they acted as casual acquaintances might— some small talk, a sprinkle of insults, nothing to indicate that anything between them had changed. If Ron weren't so oblivious, or if Goyle weren't constantly high, they might have noticed that the bickering bordered on flirting long before even Harry and Draco had. As it was, only Hermione had an inkling that something was going on. Harry still had a bruise from when he'd blamed it on her hormones.

"I know," Harry sighed. "I just didn't want to bring it up. I liked what we had. I didn't want to spoil it."

That sounded weak too, but it earned him a kiss. "I know the feeling," Draco whispered in his ear. He pulled back. "It can be Kreacher's garden for now. But eventually, we're going to have to tell someone."

Harry smiled, thankful that Draco didn't push the subject. There was a difference between hiding from the world and seeking refuge. One involved being dragged into the light, kicking and screaming; the other, waiting patiently for the right moment. A calculated coward. Ginny would have seen it as a title of shame. Draco knew otherwise. "I think I know who to start with."

~D~H~

Grimmauld Place hardly resembled the haunted house it had been during the war. The only rooms that remained untouched were Sirius and Regulus's rooms, the latter because Kreacher would have a mental breakdown if they so much as adjusted a picture frame. Other than that, the elf had been surprisingly amiable to the changes, likely because Draco had sweet-talked him into believing that pink was indeed the new Black.

Maybe pink was exaggerating a little bit, but Grimmauld was certainly much more colorful than it had ever been before. Not quite as colorful as the peacocks of Malfoy Manor, but pretty close. Plus, unlike the peacocks, the house didn't bite. Much. At times, Scorpius and Albus got a bit testy from their perch on the kitchen pantry. That was mostly because they had thus far failed in their efforts to set Mrs. Black up with Phineas Nigellus. Honestly, the pairings some people came up with, Harry thought, shaking his head.

In all, Grimmauld was starting to look like home. Accordingly, Draco thought it was appropriate to throw a small housewarming party with Andromeda and Teddy.

Harry could tell the blond was as nervous as he was excited. He fussed over the furniture arrangement. He fussed over the menu. Harry put his foot down after the blond had rejected his fifth outfit of the night and told him that he preferred him without his clothes anyway, which led to several rounds of rather athletic sex. As a result, both of them were quite flustered when they answered the door.

Andromeda shot them a knowing glance. Of course, the Slytherin had known they were a couple before they had even been a couple, if, indeed, that was what they were. Seeing as they had yet to tell anyone about their relationship, Harry hadn't had to define it to anyone.

Teddy, of course, didn't notice a thing, his hair a vibrant shade of turquoise. "Uncle Harry! Cousin Draco! Grandmother said we were going to a party. Are there going to be presents?"

"Teddy," Andromeda scolded. "What have I told you? You don't ask for presents."

"Your grandmother's right," Draco replied sternly. Then he winked at the five-year-old and whispered, "But check the room down the hall."

The boy bounded off excitedly. Harry felt a brief surge of playful jealousy that Draco was replacing him as the favorite uncle, but he quickly brushed it away. Especially when Teddy tripped over the troll leg umbrella stand.

Draco and Andromeda rushed to Teddy's aid. The five-year-old hurriedly sat up and wiped any tears out of his eyes, no doubt trying to impress his uncles with his Gryffindor bravery, although his grin had wavered into a frown.

Harry couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing.

"Harry!" Draco hissed. "Are you out of your mind?"

"He tripped over the umbrella stand!" Harry clapped his hands together as he steadied himself on the wall, laughing hysterically. "Don't you get it? The umbrella stand!"

Draco and Andromeda exchanged a worried glance. Teddy seemed confused at first but, used to grown-ups laughing at random things he did, he quickly lost interest and ran off to check out his presents.

"Are you feeling okay?" Andromeda asked, her eyebrows twitching.

"I'm fine. No, really." He dodged Draco's attempt to feel his forehead. Catching his breath, he explained, "His mother tripped over that stand all the time. Literally, every time she entered the house, there'd be this loud crash, and then Mrs. Black would start screaming her head off for the next ten minutes. It was… well, I never thought it would be endearing." Harry's mind finally caught up with his heart, and he wiped the smile off his face. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have laughed like that." No wonder Draco was surpassing him as the cool uncle.

To his surprise, Andromeda was grinning. "That sounds just like my Dora. She probably spent half her childhood on the floor. But she always got right back up." The smile faded from her face as the memories sunk in, along with the realization that there was no getting back up from where Tonks had fallen. She looked away. "So, boys, I see you've finally come to your senses."

Harry enjoyed the look of shock that passed over Draco's face. "Come to our— you _knew_?"

"It was obvious from the way Harry talked about you when he told stories about Hogwarts to Teddy," Andromeda replied.

"Oh, really?" Draco nudged Harry, who felt his cheeks growing hot. "How come you don't tell me these bedtime stories? Although, mind you, I'm hard-pressed to find much good to say about me from Hogwarts."

Brian's story flickered through Harry's mind. From the smirk Draco was sporting, Harry knew the blond was just fishing for compliments. "Well, you made a rather adorable ferret."

Draco scowled. "Please tell me that's not the first thing my cousin ever heard about me."

"Of course not." From behind Draco's back, Andromeda shot him an amused expression. Harry quickly changed the subject. "So you're still okay with Teddy spending the night with us? We thought it might help him understand… well… that is, if you don't mind us telling him about…"

Andromeda cut him off. "Of course. I'm not going to make the same mistakes my parents made with me." She held her finger up. "But if Teddy comes home asking me how babies are made…"

"We'll keep it G-rated," Harry promised. The blank looks he received reminded him he was talking to two purebloods. Was it any wonder Draco had turned out the way he had if he hadn't grown up watching Disney movies? "Sorry. Muggle expression. We'll keep it simple."

The excited shouts from the other room informed them that Teddy had finished opening his present. Harry grimaced. "Although we need to get Teddy to stop calling you Cousin Draco," he muttered as Andromeda hurried ahead.

Draco frowned. "We can't have him calling me something like— what was it you called your cousin— Big D?"

"Even though you are," Harry teased, earning him a half scolding, half appreciative look from his lover. "But seriously, Uncle Harry and Cousin Draco?" He grimaced at the implication.

"I see your point. I suppose Second Cousin, Once Removed would do." Harry shoved the blond playfully, who laughed. "Fine, Uncle Draco it is."

After sufficiently oohing and ahing at Teddy's new miniature potions kit (the equivalent of a Muggle Easy-Bake-Oven), Harry and Draco gave their visitors a brief tour of the house. Teddy was got bored after a few rooms but was delighted to meet Kreacher. Thanks to Draco's coaxing and Harry's threats, the House Elf tolerated the five-year-old's poking and prodding. Harry nearly fell over laughing when Teddy copied the elf's tennis ball eyes.

"And what do we have here?"

Hearing the voice, Teddy whirled around. It took him a moment to figure out the hoots were coming from the floor, where Albus and Scorpius had hopped over.

"How come the doorknobs at my house don't talk?" Teddy demanded.

"They don't talk?" Albus sounded horrified. "I thought the neighbors were just shy!"

"Lies," Scorius said. "I know the pantry was glaring at me yesterday. She's jealous of my new wax."

"You mean when you fell into the toilet?"

Scorpius glared. "Yeah, about that. Which one of you doesn't flush when you pee during the night?"

Harry buried his face in his hands—because of the doorknobs' antics, not because he was the guilty party— then started the introductions.

Teddy's eyes glowed as the doorknobs jumped onto his outstretched palms. "Hey, I can do that too!" Before Harry could ask what "that" was, Teddy's nose and mouth melded together into a bulbous shape, which spoke through a small, keyhole opening. "Knock knock!"

"Who's there?" Albus asked.

"You know."

"You know who?" Scorpius asked.

"Exactly!" Teddy threw his arms up in the air as the doorknobs started cackling uncontrollably. Harry shook his head. The five-year-old had heard the joke at school and thought it was hilarious that someone's parent had named their kid "You-Know-Who." He didn't know that Voldemort had been behind his parents' deaths, although Harry had broached the subject to Andromeda a couple of times. He spared a sideways glance to make sure Teddy's joke hadn't upset her too much.

That was when he noticed that Andromeda was no longer with them.

He tapped Draco's shoulder, gave the blond wordless instructions to watch over Teddy, then slipped out of the room.

Sure enough, he found Andromeda transfixed in front of the Black family tapestry, tracing a name. _Nymphadora Tonks_. And then, two threads that connected to it, _Ted Tonks _and _Remus Lupin_.

"The house is nothing like I remember it," Andromeda remarked, staring at the embroidered faces. "I mean it as a compliment."

Harry joined her. "I hardly touched anything until Draco came. Somehow, it seemed… sacrilegious, to change anything. Like I was destroying a part of them." He stared sadly at the small black stitches of _Sirius Black_ and the little black dog perched beside it. The first few times he'd tried to reconstruct his godfather's face, he'd ended up recreating that scorching black hole. His face had never looked right on the wall. It was as if there had been a certain honor being blotched out of the family.

He had closed his eyes and half-heartedly flicked his wand, thinking of the first time he'd seen Sirius. When he'd opened them, the Grim had been staring back at him, and he'd known he'd succeeded. This was how Sirius wanted to be remembered. As Padfoot the Marauder. As Snuffles, the best godfather Harry could have hoped for.

Harry let a sad grin grow on his face. "But then I realized. If I never changed anything, I could never create anything new." Gently, Harry guided Andromeda's finger to the blossom at the bottom of the tree, _Teddy Lupin_. "Not every change was bad. Some things changed for the better." He guided her other hand to _Draco Malfoy_. "They created this world for us, and they would have wanted us to live in it."

Andromeda sniffled. "I just wish they could live in it too."

"Me too," Harry admitted. "But a wise man once told me that it did not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. He's dead now, and I miss him too. But…" He stared at Draco's name as he remembered that night. Somehow, it wasn't as horrifying as it had been few months ago. Now that he knew Draco so well, he could interpret all the shadows in the blond's eyes, the lines on his forehead, the tremors in his voice. And not one of them, not even the skull on his arm, said, _Death Eater_. "But, even so, I'm happy. I'm happy to have a wonderful godson who trips over umbrella stands, and a wonderful boyfriend who helps him to his feet." He put his hand on Andromeda's shoulder. "And my godson's wonderful grandmother who's the strongest woman I've ever known."

That probably wasn't the best way to end his speech if his goal was to prevent her from crying. But Blacks didn't cry as a rule, and when Andromeda started sobbing in his arms, Harry knew he'd done the right thing.

~D~H~

After Andromeda departed, Harry found Draco relaxing in an armchair.

"Where's Teddy?" Harry asked.

"Fashion show," Draco replied, pointing into the closet.

Sure enough, they could hear a rustling sound from within as a voice squeaked excitedly, "Oooh, Cousin— I mean, Uncle Draco, this one's gonna be real good!"

"Let's see it," Draco called.

The five-year-old jumped out, whirling around dramatically. Aside from wearing a pair of Draco's loafers that dwarfed his feet, Teddy's attire wasn't all that different from when he'd arrived at the house, but his hair was now bright red and looked like a hurricane had gone through it. He sported a gigantic pair of beaver-like front teeth, and his face was littered with freckles.

"We're trying to figure out what his new cousin might look like," Draco explained, earning him a glare from Harry.

"Dinner's ready," Harry said.

Teddy pouted. "One more!"

Harry immediately caved. "Alright. But no more teasing your cousin!"

Teddy giggled. "Okay… no more teasing my _cousin_."

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance as Teddy retreated back into the closet. "What does that mean?" Draco asked.

Remembering Draco's relation to Teddy, Harry answered, "I think it means you better watch out."

From the closet, Teddy giggled like the true son of a Marauder, and he didn't disappoint.

"Well done, Teddy," Harry whistled, impressed that the five-year-old had managed to replicate that unique sheen Draco had to his hair.

"But you haven't seen the best part!" Teddy protested. Without warning, he pulled up his sleeve.

There, printed on his forearm, was the Dark Mark.

* * *

**Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! In the meantime, enjoy another cliffhanger!**


	9. Bad Words

_There, printed on his forearm, was the Dark Mark._

Years of working with the Aurors had trained Harry to reach for his wand at the sight of the skull. Only the skinny wrist that held the tattoo made Harry abort the motion and scratch an imaginary mosquito bite on his thigh instead, which just happened to be at the tip of his wand.

Beside him, Draco had stopped breathing. His eyes looked more white than grey as he stared unblinkingly at Teddy's arm. Oblivious to the adults' shocked stares, Teddy beamed, chattering about how hard he'd practiced and how he wanted to be just like his Uncle Draco when he grew up.

At those words, Draco snapped out of his stupor. "Get rid of it! Get rid of it now!"

The five-year-old stopped mid-sentence, surprised at his uncle's outburst. His smile vanished when Draco leapt forward and grabbed his arm. "Get. It. Off!"

In his shock, Teddy probably couldn't have maintained the illusion even if he'd tried. The tattoo vanished. So did his blond hair. All that remained was a little boy drowning in a set of Draco's robes.

"Why would you do that?" Draco shouted. "Don't you know what it is?"

There was more desperation in his tone than fury, but Teddy wouldn't read it like that. For all the boy knew, this was just a normal transformation, and his gentle-mannered uncle was yelling at him for no reason. Harry stepped forward. "Draco…"

"No! Did you hear what he said?" He shook Teddy's arm. "He wants to be like me when he grows up!"

"No, I don't!" Teddy cried, yanking his arm out of Draco's grip. "Let me go!" Draco finally noticed the tears streaming down the boy's eyes and froze.

"Teddy…" he tried.

The boy broke into sobs and ran from the room, his feet slipping out of Draco's loafers. Draco remained frozen on his knees, staring at the place where Teddy had left with a haunted glaze over his eyes. "Shit," he whispered. "Shit, Harry, what have I done?"

"I'm going to go find out," Harry replied, already at his feet. "You stay here." He was a little disappointed when Draco didn't follow.

He heard sniffles coming from the tapestry room. As he entered, he caught Teddy wiping his boogers on the carpet. The five-year-old quickly pulled his hand behind his back, where he thought Harry couldn't see him scraping the remaining goop onto the stitched face of a particularly unfortunate twelfth century duke.

Normally, Harry might have had a talk with Teddy about defacing the heirloom. As it was, he crossed the room with a smile on his face. A pair of red-rimmed eyes peeked out at Harry from between a set of knobby knees. "Are you going to yell at me too?"

"No," Harry promised, sitting beside the boy, who sniffled again. "And Draco didn't mean to yell at you either. He won't yell anymore."

Teddy started crying again. Trying not to looked panicked, Harry put his arm around his godson. Most people assumed he was a natural with children, but the truth was, he didn't understand the first thing about talking to children. As a child, he'd never had other children to play with or an adult to wipe the tears off his cheek. Most of the Wizarding World had treated him like a grown-up. He'd even gotten angry when Dumbledore hadn't.

"I made him go away, didn't I?" Teddy sniffled. "He decided that he didn't love me, and now he's going to go away again!"

_What? _Harry's face twisted into a frown. Unfortunately, this was a feeling he could relate to very well. "No, no, no, Teddy, Draco loves you very much. In fact, it's because he loves you that he yelled at you."

Teddy wiped his eyes. "Really?"

Harry nodded. "Really. Draco and I love each other, and we yell at each other all the time."

"Really?" Teddy repeated.

"Yesterday, we had a thirty minute argument about bath soap."

That didn't seem to answer Teddy's question. Harry thought back and realized what the boy was really asking. "You mean do we love each other?"

Embarrassed, Teddy nodded.

As promised, Harry kept it simple. "Yep."

"Like Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione?"

Draco probably wouldn't appreciate the comparison, which made Harry nod enthusiastically. "Yes. We do."

Teddy thought about this. "Why isn't Uncle Draco an aunt?"

Harry tried to cover up his laughter. It came out as a snort. "Sometimes, I wonder the same thing." More seriously, he added, "Two uncles can love each other. Two aunts can love each other. It may not be as common, but it's perfectly normal."

Teddy seemed to accept this. "Why did Uncle Draco yell at me?"

How to phrase this in a way that wouldn't give Teddy nightmares? "You know how there are certain bad words your grandmother would ground you for saying?"

"Like…" Teddy giggled, then imitated Ron's voice, "bloody hell."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Harry said. "Well, that tattoo is like a very bad word."

Teddy's mouth dropped open in awe. "Uncle Draco got a bad word tattooed on his arm? Did his uncle yell at him too?"

Harry thought of the Lestranges and suppressed a sigh, knowing Teddy would interpret it the wrong way. "No, Teddy. Most of his family had the same tattoo."

"But…" Teddy frowned, trying to make sense of everything. "Grandmother doesn't have a tattoo." His eyes suddenly lit up. "Unless she has one on her bum!"

Imagining Andromeda with a tramp stamp, Harry laughed along with Teddy and felt like a horrible godfather afterwards. He wouldn't be able to look at Andromeda the same way for weeks, and she was bound to notice. "No, your grandmother does not have a tattoo. Neither did your parents or grandfather. They didn't like what it said."

Teddy nodded, making a face. "It's not very pretty. It would look better in pink."

"One of the many reasons Draco doesn't like it." Come to think of it, Voldemort would have been much easier to defeat had he gone with Teddy's suggestion. Walking around with a pink tattoo would have probably gone against someone like Lucius Malfoy's morals more than siding with halfbloods and Muggleborns.

"But why did he get it, if he didn't like it?"

"The same reason you did," Harry replied. "Because someone he loved had the same tattoo, and he wanted to impress them." Of course, the actual reason was more complicated than that, but Harry didn't think he'd done too badly for five-year-old terms.

"But like you, he didn't know what it fully meant," Harry continued. "He upset a lot of people. He doesn't want the same thing to happen to you."

Teddy wiped his nose with his sleeve. "He could have just told me that. I would have understood. I'm five and three quarters!"

Harry chuckled at the last part, but it was also a grim reminder that Teddy was getting to be the age where he wouldn't be satisfied with vague answers. Every bedtime story got closer and closer to the truth. Soon enough, they'd have to tell him about Voldemort and his Death Eaters, about the Order of the Phoenix and the Boy Who Lived. But not today.

"Look behind you, Teddy. You see that tree? That's the Black family tree, and you're on it." Quickly, he showed the boy the names of everyone he knew and left him to admire the pictures while he went to fetch Draco.

"Uncle Harry?" Harry paused at the doorframe. "What does the tattoo mean?"

"It means you're going to have to wait until you're six and three quarters to know that," Harry replied to Teddy's great disappointment.

As he left, he heard several metallic clunks, followed by two soothing voices saying how Draco was a meanie, how chocolate was the cure for every good cry, and did Teddy have a lake in his bedroom?

Harry found Draco in the bedroom, tossing all of his clothes into his suitcase.

"Teddy's okay," he announced, causing the blond to jump.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "What did you tell him?"

"That you loved him very much and weren't going to leave him," Harry replied, eyeing the suitcase warily. "Should I go tell him I was wrong?"

Draco looked down at the shirt in his hand, before tossing it on the floor. "No."

"Good," Harry replied, dumping the contents of the suitcase back into the closet. "Because you'd be in a bodybind curse before you could say hippogriff. I don't care what you've got tattooed where, you can't just run away like that."

"I wasn't running away," Draco protested. "I pack up all my belongings when I'm nervous." Harry raised his eyebrow. "It's a bad habit."

"I tend to wash our pink tablecloth with someone's white dress shirts when I'm pissed off." Harry leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "It's a bad habit."

Draco kicked his suitcase across the room. It came dangerously close to knocking Harry's shin. "I have lots of bad habits you don't know about. That— _thing _is just one of them. Seeing it on Teddy…" Draco shook his head. "He's not safe around me."

"That's ridiculous! It was a fake tattoo."

"And I have a real one."

"Yes, you do." Draco's mouth twitched. Perhaps he'd expected Harry to be more forgiving than he had been to himself. "You're a former Death Eater. You're also Teddy's uncle. You choose which one is more important."

"Why do you think I'm doing this? Because he's _not _important to me?"

"I think you're doing this because you're afraid," Harry snapped. Draco muttered something about Gryffindor under his breath, which Harry ignored. "You're afraid of how he'll react when he finds out what you did, so you're trying to make the choice for him."

"That's not it," Draco protested. "You don't understand."

Harry thought it was a weak excuse, but then, insulting Harry's intelligence had always been a favorite pastime of Draco's. "Maybe not. But if I don't understand, imagine how Teddy feels. Just—" Harry sighed and brushed his hand through his hair as he was apt to do when he was frustrated. "Just go down there, tell him you love him, and give him a hug, okay? That's all he needs." _Right now_, he wanted to say but swallowed the words. He didn't want to think about that future time when Teddy would maybe want to punch Draco more than hug him.

Draco frowned and said something inaudible.

"What was that?"

"But does he?" Draco blurted, more assertive. "You saw me, I'm not exactly the world's best role model. We've met, what, five times? He wouldn't miss me."

"Are you kidding me?" If Teddy weren't in dire need of two semi-responsible guardians, Harry would have punched the blond. Or else wrapped him in a bear hug and refused to let go. "That's not how family works, Draco."

Draco opened his mouth, then froze. If he was having an epiphany, it didn't look like a good one. Unexpectedly, the Slytherin started laughing and flopped onto the bed. "You know what I was thinking just then? _You would know_. You, with the adoring hoards, and me, family-less, sitting on a bed, thinking, _You would know_. That's the person you're sleeping with, Harry. I just thought you should know."

Harry would be lying if he said that didn't hurt at all. But he could handle the immature schoolboy with the lame insults. It was the other person that scared him. "Well, the person I'm sleeping with isn't in the habit of thinking out loud. He would save us all a lot of trouble if he did, but he doesn't, so I think we're okay. And I'm the one who's sleeping with him, so…" He met Draco's eyes. "I would know."

Draco looked down. Determined to drive the point into the blond's thick skull, Harry joined Draco on the bed. "Talk to Teddy. Tell him why he acted how you did. Children will listen if you're willing to tell them."

"But what can I tell him?" Draco asked helplessly. "That I'm a murderer who worked for the most evil monster of the century? Don't you see? If I stay silent, he'll hate me. If I tell him, he'll hate me even more."

Harry shook his head. "He doesn't know how to hate yet." Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cut him off. "He doesn't. That's something you don't learn until it's been drilled into your head by someone you love or until you don't have anyone you love left. You pointed it out earlier." Harry lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal a thin scar on his back. Unlike his infamous scar, it wasn't on display for the whole world to see, and it sure didn't look like a lightning bolt. Just an ambiguous line that could have come from anywhere or anyone. "I would know."

Gently, Draco reached forward and stroked the scar. "Harry…"

"I'm not a child anymore," Harry said, pushing him away. "I've cast the Cruciartus curse. I've lived in Voldemort's head. I love, and I hate. That ship sailed a long time ago, and you missed your chance to do anything about it. Now you have another, and you want to throw it away?"

His voice had inadvertently risen to a shout by the end. Draco was wincing. "Of course I don't want that! I just… I'm a horrible person."

Harry smacked his palm against his forehead. No wonder he was so good at talking to five-year-olds. He'd been living with one for the past few months. "That's not the lesson you're supposed to be taking away from this."

"I promised I'd be better than my father," Draco continued. "It was going to be easy, because I was never going to be a father. Not after— and then you and Teddy… You have to understand, running away isn't always the cowardly thing to do. I never had the courage for it during the war." He stared down at his forearm sadly. "And I haven't the courage for it now either. But seeing that tattoo on him… It wasn't just the memories. It was like looking into a crystal ball. I can't let that happen to Teddy."

"Voldemort's dead. It can't happen."

"I know," Draco said, wiping his eyes. "But lots of things that can't happen do, just so my nightmares can come true." He plastered a smile on his face. "We should find Teddy. There's a lot I need to say to him."

"Draco." Harry caught Draco's arm as he stood up, his fingers wrapped around the Dark Mark. What was it Draco had just said? That nightmares became true? Not that memories became nightmares? Harry had ignored the subject for the longest time. Now wasn't ideal, but it was better than never. "We need to talk about your nightmares."

"I'm on display, naked in the Hufflepuff Common Room," Draco said. "It's quite traumatizing."

"I'm serious. I can tell when they're bothering you."

Draco paused for a moment. "They don't bother me so much when you're around."

The fact that Draco willingly admitted such made Harry certain that he was hiding something.

~D~H~

They weren't even halfway up the stairs when they heard laughter coming from the tapestry room. Draco gave Harry a wary glance. "Maybe I should yell at him more often."

Harry jabbed the blond with his elbow. "He's probably amusing himself by wiping boogers on your face."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco reach up and rub his cheek, as if assessing valuable real estate. If Harry hadn't felt so fondly about said face, he would have found the mental image hilarious.

"…the pig tails, I tell you," insisted a voice that Harry recognized as Scorpius. "That is the way to a girl's heart. I tried it with Albus once. Turns out, it has nothing to do with the actual tail of a pig."

"Or you could offer her chewing gum," Albus said. "Then, when she says yes, take the piece you're chewing out of your mouth. That's, like, indirect kissing."

"What if she's an uncle instead of an aunt?" Teddy asked.

The doorknobs stopped dancing around on the floor and gave each other a glance. Perhaps Harry should have clarified that just because two men dated did not mean that they were both uncles. "Then you have bigger problems than getting her attention," Albus said.

"I could set you up with a toaster oven, if you're into that," Scorpius offered helpfully.

"And I could set you into a toaster oven," Harry said, interrupting the conversation before it could get any weirder. "Don't you two have some, er, lock picking to do or something?"

Scorpius looked horrified. "Ew! I don't pick my lock in public." He jerked his head towards Albus. "Albus does."

"There was a beetle nesting in there," Albus complained.

"Uncle Draco!" Teddy leapt to his feet. "I'm very sorry for copying your tattoo. Grandma always told me that no one likes a copycat."

Even after everything, Draco couldn't stop the traces of a smile from coming to his lips. "You can copy my hair anytime you want, Teddy. But your grandmother's right, you shouldn't copy everything you see." He ushered Teddy into a chair, then sat beside him. "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. Did Uncle Harry tell you what the tattoo means?"

"He said it was a very bad word. Like poopy."

Draco struggled to contain his laughter. "Well, yes, but that's not the whole story. And I'm a much better storyteller than Harry, so I'm going to tell you the whole story."

Crap. Maybe telling Draco to be honest with Teddy wasn't the best idea. "Draco, are you sure this is appropriate?"

"When you were four, you believed your parents died in a car crash," was all the blond said.

"What's a car crash?" Teddy asked.

"I'm not entirely sure myself, but it sounds like some sort of infection," Draco replied. Taking a deep breath, he rolled up his sleeve and showed Teddy his Dark Mark. "You see this tattoo?"

Teddy's eyes grew out of their sockets into a binocular-like shape. "Yes. Do you have a tattoo on your bum?"

Draco blinked. "No." He folded his arms deliberately. Harry could tell that it was an excuse to hide the tattoo from Teddy. "What exactly has Uncle Harry been telling you?"

Teddy's eyes receded to their normal shape, although they still seem wider than normal. "Does Uncle Harry get to see your bum?"

Harry buried his face in his hands as Draco started stammering. Andromeda was going to kill him.

"Er, no, not—let me tell you about the tattoo." Behind his hand, Harry smiled. Leave it to Teddy to make talking about Death Eaters seem comfortable in comparison. "You see, Teddy, there was a gang, led by a very bad man, and every member of the gang had the same tattoo—this one. My father was a member of the gang, and so was most of my family."

"Why?" The eternal question of five year olds.

"Because I was a copycat too," Draco answered. "That tattoo is a reminder of everything stupid I did when I was young. When I saw it on you, I got scared. That's why I yelled. I was scared."

Teddy frowned. "Grown-ups get scared?"

Draco met Harry's eyes. "Yeah. Sometimes, they do."

A brief silence settled over the room that Teddy broke quickly. "So you're not mad at me anymore?"

"No, I'm not mad," Draco said. "I was never mad." A brief glint flashed over his eyes, almost like a tell, but he shook it off. "But I had better never see that tattoo on your arm again. No tattoos, period, until you're thirty—at least!"

Scorpius hopped up on Teddy's shoulder. "If you want a piercing, though, Albus has a doornail that would match your eyes perfectly!"

Teddy's eyes quickly changed from brown to emerald green. Harry cleared his throat. "Now I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

As they left the room, Teddy spoke up. "Uncle Draco? That very bad man who led the gang—what happened to him?"

It was the first time Harry had seen Draco smile when Voldemort was mentioned. "Your uncle Harry rescued me from him." Subtly, he grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed. "He can't hurt us anymore."

~D~H~

Later that night, as they were putting Teddy to bed, the boy asked, "Uncle Draco? You said you're a much better storyteller than Uncle Harry, right?"

"I'm pretty much better at everything than Uncle Harry," Draco told the boy, earning him an eye roll from Harry.

Teddy bounced up and down. "Tell me a story!"

"If you insist," Draco replied, clearly savoring the moment. "Is there any one you had in mind?"

"I want to hear my favorite!"

"And what's that?"

"Draco the Amazing Bouncing Ferret."

When Harry reentered the room twenty minutes later, an incredibly baffled five year old sat on his bed, more wide-eyed than ever. "Uncle Harry, you've been telling the story all wrong!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah! It was the Weasel's fault all along!"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. In some ways, Draco had changed not a bit. "Time to get some sleep." Draco gave Teddy a goodnight kiss and left the room. Harry lingered in the doorway as he watched the boy settle in. "Teddy?"

The boy made a sleepy sound.

"The ferret turns into a princess when the scar-faced boy kisses it."

"And they live happily ever after?" came the sleepy reply.

Harry looked down the hallway to where Draco was getting ready to shower. "Yes. Yes, they do."

He ran into Kreacher as he left the room. "Master Harry!" the elf shouted. Harry tried to shush the elf, but Kreacher plowed ahead with passion he normally reserved for fussing over Regulus's belongings. "Kreacher is seeing someone approach with a letter! Filthy blood traitor!"

"Harry?" Draco called from the other room. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Harry called back, before apparating down to his doorstep.

A figure in a black cloak was crouched over the stoop, letter in hand. _Dragon hide gloves_, Harry noted. _Figures_. The figure nearly collided with Harry as he snapped his head up, startled by the sound. He tried to duck under Harry's grasp, but Harry caught hold of the figure's hood and yanked hard, ripping it off to reveal…

Harry's breath caught in his chest. "You."

* * *

**Last chance to guess who it is! Thanks again for all the reviews!**


	10. To Throw Things in Dumpsters

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews last chapter! Sorry for not updating last week. Call it an intermission, if you will (AKA I had to get ready for school). This chapter is relatively long, so I hope that makes up for it. Almost everyone guessed someone different, which impressed me. Let's see who was right!**

_Harry's breath caught in his chest. "You."_

George Weasley stood before him, red-haired and red-handed. Or at least, someone who looked like George Weasley, because the real George Weasley would have invented some flying dust monkey to deliver the letters rather than being so boneheaded as to deliver them in person.

The George Harry knew wouldn't write such hurtful letters in the first place. But then, George wasn't really writing the letters, was he? "Draco" was. George Weasley was too light-hearted and good-humored to write such angry and hateful words, but "Draco Malfoy" didn't have a reputation to censor him.

Harry couldn't bring himself to reach for his wand. He kept waiting for George to burst out laughing and shout, "Fooled ya!" In a way, he was relieved when the redhead met his gaze with guilty eyes. At least George wasn't meaninglessly cruel. He had known what he was doing.

Harry could see it now. The "I Can't Believe It's Not Stutter" quill hadn't been a prototype or prank. George had used it to manipulate Harry's letter to Draco, to turn it into nonsense or worse. Harry could only guess what "other things" George had hoped the quill would do. The things the letters were meant to do.

"Harry!"

George took a step back at the shout. Only then did Harry raise his wand. "Don't," he mouthed, lowering it as Draco appeared in the doorway.

"What's going on?" Draco demanded. He stopped, noticing George lingering in the doorway. "Weasley." He always made the word sound like a disease.

Harry noticed Draco wasn't wearing a shirt. Apparently George had noticed too. "Malfoy," he spat back.

"Potter," Harry added for good measure.

For once, George didn't seem to appreciate his humor. "What are you doing here?"

Draco folded his arms. "You first."

Harry decided to intervene, although he didn't know whether that was because he didn't want them to fight or because he didn't want George to answer Draco's question. "George just wanted to show me a new prank." It wasn't a lie, per se.

"At this hour?"

"I didn't realize I was so late," George said, his eyes flickering between Harry and Draco.

Harry caught his meaning and gave him a stern glance, which Draco seemed to notice. "I'll stop by during lunch tomorrow. And you can explain how the prank works."

George nodded with only a hint of reluctance. Draco didn't seem convinced. "If it's just a stupid prank, we might as well just see it now. Wouldn't want Weaselbee to have come all this way for nothing."

George sneered. "I don't think you would find it very funny."

Draco leaned against the doorframe. "Well, Harry's sense of humor isn't as refined as mine." He held out his hands. "Come on. Let's see it."

"Draco," Harry began. "I really don't think…"

Before he could finish speaking, George whipped his hand out from his cloak and deposited an orange tonic in Draco's palm. "Drink this, and you'll be farting off the walls."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Why would anyone pay for this? Are they too bored to go roast a can of baked beans?"

Affronted, George looked like his normal self for the first time that night. "_Beans_! He thinks that _beans _are my secret ingredient!" He lowered his voice. "There may be a _trace _amount of beans in the salsa component…"

"Salsa?" A flying chunk of metal snatched the bottle out of Draco's hand. Seconds later, Harry heard the bottle shatter across the floor, followed by some frantic licking noises and a burst of thunderous gas.

Draco stormed down the hallway. "ALBUS!"

"It was the pantry's fault!"

Taking advantage of Draco's absence, George turned towards Harry, his voice stronger this time. "Harry…"

"Don't," Harry said. "Not now. Tomorrow. Noon."

George didn't seem happy, but he nodded anyone and departed without another word as Draco returned, airing out the room with his hand. "He left?"

"Like you said. It's late." Harry yawned, then noticed Draco looking at him strangely. "What?"

"He didn't prank me," Draco said, puzzled. "There's something off about him, or he would have give me ferret ears or something."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he thinks you wouldn't notice the difference?"

Albus let out another bout of gas, which launched him into the air until he landed at their feet. Draco huffed. "At least he didn't give me a ferret nose."

As Draco walked off, Harry scanned the porch for George's letter. To his relief, George seemed to have taken it with him. Good. Harry didn't want to know what lies George had cooked up this time.

~D~H~

Draco stayed behind to catch up on sleep in preparation for his night shift, leaving Harry to drop off Teddy before work. The five-year-old was chattering excitedly about his new pen pals, both of whom were currently confined to diapers after the gas explosion crisis. Harry frowned as Teddy referred to Albus and Scorpius as his "younger cousins" for the third time. He didn't know how Teddy had gotten the idea that they were Harry and Draco's children.

Teddy raced into the living room. "Grandma! Grandma! Look what Uncle Harry—" Teddy broke off abruptly as the woman in the chair turned her head. "You're not Grandma," he said, folding his arms.

Narcissa Malfoy smiled at him the way one might when practicing in the mirror. "You must be Teddy."

The boy hovered around Harry's knee. Harry didn't fault him for it. If he had spoken at that moment, he was sure he would have stuttered, if only at the shock of seeing Narcissa—his boyfriend's mother, at that—at her sister's house. He gave his hair a quick pat-down and prayed she wouldn't notice his mismatching socks. Or the fact that one of them definitely belonged to Draco.

"Teddy!" Andromeda hurried out of the kitchen. "Did you behave yourself last night?"

Teddy nodded, casting a side-glance at Harry. Andromeda noticed and arched her eyebrows. Harry gave his head a slight shake, not wanting to bring up the Dark Mark incident in front of Draco's mother.

"I'm glad to hear it," Andromeda continued, pushing the matter aside for now. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." Narcissa rose from her chair to stand beside her sister. "Teddy, this is my sister, Narcissa Malfoy."

Teddy loosened his death grip on Harry's robes. "Are you Uncle Draco's mommy?"

"Draco is my son," Narcissa affirmed, enunciating each word carefully. Clearly, it had been a while since she had spoken to a child.

"Oh." Teddy considered this. "Do you have a tattoo too?" He giggled and repeated the phrase "tattoo too" several times.

Narcissa's expression didn't change, not even to glance at her left arm. Harry would have been impressed if he hadn't been so mortified. Putting his hand on Teddy's shoulder, he asked, "Hey, Teddy, want to go bake me a potion with your new kit?"

The boy's eyes lit up. "I'm going to make one that turns you into a hippopotamus."

As Teddy skipped out of the room, Harry turned to the Black sisters. "I'm sorry about that. We had to have a talk about that last night."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Potter," Narcissa said before Andromeda could speak. "As I recall, Draco once drew one on Blaise Zabini's arm during naptime. I remember his mother was furious when it wouldn't wash off in time for the photos at her third wedding." Narcissa frowned. "Or was it her fourth?"

Andromeda made a noise that sounded awfully like a giggle. "But Blaise and Draco get along now, don't they?"

Narcissa smiled, more naturally this time. "Actually, that was what cemented their friendship. I saw Blaise just yesterday, in fact. He has been helping me get my affairs in order for the past year."

"Oh?" Andromeda frowned. "You're not in any trouble, are you?"

Narcissa shook her head. "The reparations are almost paid. But the paperwork was in a ghastly state, and should anything happen to me, I want to make sure Draco is taken care of." She shifted her gaze. "Which brings us to you, Mr. Potter."

Harry, who had been awing at the sisterly banter, snapped back to it. "Er… me?"

"I'll go make some tea," Andromeda offered, fleeing the room before Harry could protest.

Narcissa laid her hand on a chair, a clear invitation. He accepted it as she took the seat across from him. "How is my son, Mr. Potter?"

"Er…"

"I know you've been residing together for quite some time."

The way she paused over the word "residing" convinced Harry that she knew the exact nature of their relationship, even though Draco hadn't mentioned writing to her. Harry didn't think Andromeda had told her either. Even so, he wasn't surprised that Narcissa had managed to find out. "Yes. We have."

Narcissa nodded and relaxed her shoulders. "Did you know Draco dressed up as you for Halloween when he was eight?"

Harry bit back a smile, imagining what it must have taken to get Draco to muss up his hair. "No, he didn't mention that."

"I'll have to bring the pictures next time. Lucius and I didn't encourage it, but he was quite fond of you as a child. Something tells me he still is."

Harry melted under her gaze, his cheeks heating up. "We get along, if that's what you mean." Had Draco even told his parents he was gay? The absence of an arranged marriage suggested Narcissa was agreeable to Draco choosing his own future, but that didn't mean certain options weren't off limits.

Reading his thoughts, Narcissa said, "Your silence is admirable, Mr. Potter, but unnecessary. I have known quite some time about my son's preferences."

Harry didn't bother denying it. "Does he know you know?"

"I can't imagine he doesn't," she replied, which was probably the closest purebloods got to saying yes. She looked uncomfortable in her chair. "Is he happy?" she asked, in the same tone she had whispered in his ear behind Voldemort's back.

As Andromeda entered with the tea, Harry gave her the same answer. "Yes. I imagine so."

Narcissa didn't acknowledge his answer, but he thought she might have hidden a smile in her teacup. "Wonderful tea, Andromeda," she said, placing her cup down. "If you'll excuse me, I have to use the loo." Harry noticed she took the long route, which would take her by the room Teddy was playing in. When he looked back, Andromeda had taken her seat.

"I didn't know she was visiting England," Harry said.

"Neither did she." Andromeda wore a grin on her face that could rival the Marauders'. "What you said last night made me realize there was one other person on that tapestry who was dear to me, and I'd waited long enough for her to make the first move."

Harry chose not to ask how she had gotten to France, given that Portkeys were booked days in advance. "And it went well?"

"I haven't dueled as well since Ted tried to take me to Madame Puddifoots Sixth Year." Harry made a note never to get in a duel with the Black sisters. "But after we were done yelling—and after her teapot stopped yodeling— we had a nice chat. I'd forgotten how alike we were."

She let out a small sigh. Harry knew which particular similarity she was thinking of. He didn't think she would cry in front of him two days in a row, but not wanting to take any chances, he steered the conversation away from Ted's death. "Why hadn't she answered your letters?"

Andromeda laughed. "She hadn't gotten them! The House Elves were still screening the mail based on Lucius's system from years ago. Apparently, I fall under the category of 'junk mail.' Next to taxes."

Harry snorted. Across the hallway, he could hear Teddy doing the same. Apparently, the boy had decided to show his Aunt Narcissa his visual interpretation of Hogwarts. To her credit, Narcissa was applauded politely.

Andromeda frowned. "Aren't you going to be late for work?"

Harry grimaced at the clock. He was tempted to take a Nosebleed Nugget and Floo in sick. Of course, he'd used up his supply during last month's liaison with the goblins in charge of finance. Getting more would require visiting George.

Flooing in suddenly seemed like a very, very good idea.

~D~H~

Harry wished George hadn't been tickling a Kneezle as he walked into the shop. It made him think of the dead peacock. He shuddered for the Kneezle's sake.

George's grin vanished as he noticed Harry standing in the doorway. "Harry. Nice to see you."

"You're already in trouble for lying to me. Don't push it."

"Right." George juggled the Kneezle onto his shoulder. It purred. "Er… tea?"

Harry crossed his arms. "You must be crazy if you think I'm going to drink anything you give me."

"Isn't that always the case?" George set the Kneezle down on the table. "Look, Harry. I'm sorry for writing those things about your mother." The Kneezle rolled against his arm. "And the peacock. I felt horrible doing it, I really did…"

"Then why did you?"

George's voice shrunk to a mumble. "I was just trying to be realistic."

Harry laughed. George always made him laugh. This time, however, it was in disbelief. "To be r— I meant why did you write the letters, not why did you make them as disgusting as you possibly could. Merlin. You're sorry for hurting an imaginary peacock but not for impersonating Draco. That's what you're trying to say, isn't it?"

George met his gaze. "I wish you'd understood my first message that easily."

"I can't believe this." Harry threw up his arms. "Draco has never once told me to stop being friends with you, or Ron, or Hermione. What right do you have to decide who my friends are or who I date?"

"It's not like I put you under the _Imperius_!"

"If you had a problem, you should have said something to my face. I wouldn't have agreed with you, but I would have understood. This… this…" Harry shook his head. "Well, aside from being cruel, it seems pretty ineffective, if splitting us apart was your main goal."

George cast his eyes down. "I got the idea from Ron."

"_Ron _was in on this?" He knew Ron hated Draco, but not that that degree. Not to mention he didn't think Ron could keep a secret that long.

"No, he didn't know about this," George said to Harry's relief. "He was the one who told me about the first letter. I thought it would be a great idea as a prank. I wasn't going to do it, but then I saw you and Malfoy sitting in the café, looking… well. I had to do something! I was just going to poke fun at him. But when I sat down, what came out…" He closed his eyes. "I just got so angry, I thought of the most disgusting things I could, and… I just thought, 'it's what Fred would have done.'" He trailed off, shuddering with deep breaths.

Harry wasn't about to forgive him just because he used Fred's name, but the fact that he did at least meant that he was sincere. Although Harry didn't believe Fred would have supported the letters—and he didn't think George did either—Fred had had an aggressive side to him, more so than George. He wouldn't have had a problem with hurting Draco. No, he would have hated the letters because of how they changed George. At heart, George wasn't the bitter and cruel person he pretended to be in the letters.

A thought occurred to him. "Wait, Ron told you about the first letter? You mean you didn't send it?"

Surprised, George shook his head. "Monsters under the bed? Come on. I would have been far more creative." Recalling his particular "creativity," he bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"I don't forgive you." It was too soon for that. George's face sank. Harry continued, "But I'm not the one who needs to."

It took George a second to grasp his meaning. "Malfoy? You expect me to apologize to Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. "Not exactly. Luckily for you, I never told him about the letters, and I think it would do more harm than good to tell him now. But when I bring him to Christmas at the Burrow—" George struggled to keep a straight face. Harry had been partially joking, but now he was determined to make it happen. "—I expect you to support us. You don't have to be his friend." He frowned. "Actually, I'd rather you weren't his friend. But don't fight us."

George nodded. Not wanting to surrender his advantage, Harry added a condition. "And you need to see someone."

George frowned. "I tried to see a shrink once. By the end of the session, she could've fit in a thimble. In my defense, they do call themselves shrinks." George noticed the look Harry was giving him. "Hey, didn't you inflate your aunt Third Year?"

"Not a shrink. Someone. Oliver. Katie. Angelina. Someone who's not a family member or customer."

George looked away. "I couldn't. Not after everything that's happened."

Harry reached into his pocket and unfolded one of the letters. "_You stupid son of a Mudblood._" He lowered it. "I'll bet you once thought you couldn't call me that either."

He left the letters on George's table. He didn't need letters from Fako (it had seemed like a clever name at the time) anymore. His hand wavered over the first letter, the one George hadn't sent, ultimately passing it over and leaving it in his pocket. There was no harm in keeping it as evidence, just in case.

As he left, he thought he heard the Kneezle peeing on the pile.

~D~H~

"I finally saw Malfoy at the Ministry," Ron said the next day. "A janitor! I might come in early tomorrow just to see it again."

Harry frowned, looking up from his list of stolen artifacts. "What's wrong with being a janitor?"

"Nothing. But Malfoy? Come on, Harry, he wears Cezare Armandi robes with a jumpsuit. He looks absolutely ridiculous!"

"A little," Harry admitted. Personally, he found it adorable and endearing, which Malfoy would probably find even more insulting.

"Of course," Ron continued, "I think he'd look better in stripes. Black and white stripes."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't you have some paternity leave papers to fill out?"

Over the past few months, Harry had learned that whenever Ron refused to shut up about something, Harry only had to mention something baby-related to make him forget all about his rant. "I still have a few weeks," Ron said, reminding Harry of all the times they'd put off their Transfiguration homework until the last second. "Hey, want to get Mexican food? I'm craving tacos. Don't look at me like that, Hermione says vicarious craving is a real thing. It's my way of bonding with the baby."

Harry snorted. Hermione had created "vicarious craving" to deal with Ron's parenting anxieties. Ron had blown it all out of proportions. It was starting to change his proportions too, but so long as Hermione was sensitive about the topic of weight gain, the problem remained unaddressed. "Fine, but no black beans. I do have to share an office with you."

Ron's retort was cut-off as they turned into the alleyway outside the Ministry in time to see a cloaked man shoving a woman against the wall. The man jabbed his wand into the woman's throat, but before he could go any further, Harry and Ron had surrounded him.

"Hands in the air!" Ron could rival his own mother when it came to shouting. Criminals always assumed Harry was the more intimidating one. After thirty seconds in the interrogation room with Ron, they stood corrected—or they would if they still had control over their limbs.

Harry whipped the wand out of the assailant's hand, meeting little resistance. It felt familiar in his hand, as if he'd held it before. As if he used it before. _Shit…_

He tore the hood away from the assailant's face. "_Draco?_"

The blond did not look happy to see him. Harry could relate.

"'e attacked me!" the woman cried.

Draco seemed to welcome the chance to look away from Harry. His classic defense mechanism had kicked in, that arrogant sneer. "You dumped a dead body in the dumpster across the street!"

"Liar!" The woman looked straight into Harry's eyes, brimming with confidence. Which was a little surprising, considering she was surrounded by Aurors (celebrity Aurors, at that) and still pinned to the wall by a former Death Eater. "It was 'im that was dumping the body. I saw 'im me-self."

"Malfoy!" Ron barked. "Hands behind your back!"

"Are you kidding me?" Draco looked at Harry for support.

Mind whirring, Harry pointed his wand at the woman. "Give me your wand." Visibly relieved, Draco started to move, only to be cut short by Harry. "No. You stay. We're taking you both in." Draco shot him an expression of disbelief. "Ministry policy. We'll get this sorted out." _Trust me_. Harry didn't really even feel bad for saying it. Draco should be the one shooting him subtle glances that said, _Trust me_. Not the other way around.

The woman was smirking. Harry recognized that smirk. He had fondly labeled it the _Let's Pin This On the Death Eater in the Room_ smirk. Even five years after the war, common criminals were still using Voldemort as an excuse. It was these criminals that Harry made sure got the maximum sentence.

Sure enough, there was a dead body in the dumpster across the street. It was sloppily disposed of and, thankfully, completely free of Draco's magical signature. Harry felt like a coward for sending Ron in to supervise Draco as he wrote his witness statement while Harry took the job of interrogating the woman. He got a confession in record time.

Draco, on the other hand, took "ages," according to Ron. The blond's witness statement was more of a complaint, written in slow, deliberate strokes—how he spotted the suspect, Ms. Drusilla Flemming, disposing of the corpse; how he had never seen said corpse before or murdered the Muggle, Mr. William Blake; how he was greatly offended by the conduct of the officers who arrested him, particularly the ginger one. One thing was sure, Draco had talent with the written word.

"Are you sure we can't charge him for libel?" Ron asked as he read the confession over.

Harry wasn't in the mood for Ron's attitude. "No, Ron. We can't. It _was _cramped in the phone booth because you _are_ putting on weight. And your breath does smell like onions."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Bloody hell, Harry, it was a joke. Jeez, what crawled up your knickers?" Harry preferred not to answer that question. Not expecting an answer, Ron walked off, grumbling about how it wouldn't have killed the git to have written anything bad about Harry.

Harry knew better than that. The statement was written on Veritas paper.

~D~H~

When Harry got home at nine o'clock—well after when Draco should have reported to work—he was greeted by a slow clap, all the portraits applauding in synch.

"Well done," Draco drawled as Harry threw his coat on the rack. "It's a lock. Employee of the Month!"

"You won't be, if you're skipping work."

"Apparently, getting arrested _by your boyfriend_ counts as a personal day. Who knew?"

"Come on, Draco, you know I had to do it! I never for a second believed you were guilty. I was just doing my job."

"Oh, I know how your job goes," Draco scoffed. "Case One: gossip about how ridiculous Malfoy looks in his lowly janitor uniform—which is so hypocritical, given your sense of fashion."

"How did you…?" Harry trailed off. "Were you spying on me? Is that why you were at the Ministry?"

"Wow, Potter. Not even giving some half-hearted excuse about how you didn't mean what you said. That's good. We could use a little honesty in this relationship."

"Don't tell me you've been completely honest with me."

"I haven't." The quickness of Draco's reaction unnerved Harry. "But you're an Auror. It's your _job _to uncover lies."

"And you're a janitor. It's your job to throw things in dumpsters, isn't it?"

Draco's face lost all color. What was it about Draco that made Harry say things he immediately regretted? The hell with it. Why should he have to regret anything? It wasn't like what he said was any worse than what Draco said. And yet Draco's crushed expression always made Harry feel like he'd just taken his heart in his fist and squeezed. Maybe he had an expression like that that affected Draco just as much. Or maybe Draco simply didn't have thick enough skin.

Harry put his hand on said skin. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Draco wormed out of Harry embrace. "No. You did. You're right. We should be honest with each other."

"Honestly?" Harry stepped closer. "I love you."

"Don't say that!" Draco threw out his arms, blocking Harry from getting any closer. "Don't you get that when you say that, it just makes it harder and harder to tell you the truth?"

Harry frowned. "What truth?" He thought he sounded calm, but his heart trembled. Had the incident at work made Draco realize he didn't feel the same way about Harry? When he had packed his suitcase just days earlier, had he really meant it?

The way Draco turned to half-face him, dread welling in his eyes, made Harry's breath catch in his throat. If Draco was angry about Ron's mild teasing, imagine how he'd be if he found out about George's letters. Probably a lot like he looked now.

When Draco opened his mouth, only a whisper came out, but it hurt Harry's ears like a scream.

"That woman did see me dumping a body."

* * *

**And you thought last chapter's cliffhanger was bad! Congrats to NobleAndAncientLineBlack( for guessing George and to HPSlashAddict for cuing into the fact that something was different about the first letter.**


	11. Twenty-Five People

"_That woman did see me dumping a body."_

Harry's head snapped up. Instinctively, he reached for his wand. Then, he cursed himself as he watched Draco's eyes follow the movement. He threw his head back and started laughing harder than he wanted to. Serious, his arse. "You got me. Maybe I do have trust issues. Of course, I could argue that all of this is Dumbledore's fault, for—"

"Are you even listening to me?" Draco cried. "I killed someone!"

The conviction with which he spoke wiped the smile off Harry's face. If this was a joke, it had ceased to be funny. "No, you didn't. This is just some sick test you want to watch me fail." He started unpacking his bag, tossing his badge onto the table. "I'm not going to justify myself any more. I was doing my job. And I'd do it again."

"Then do it!" Draco snapped. He was sweating uncontrollably. "I'm not lying. I did throw a corpse in the dumpster."

His voice didn't waver as he spoke. He didn't blink or tremble. That scared Harry more than the words Draco spoke.

"There wasn't another body. Besides, you're not stupid enough to dispose of a body thirty feet from the Ministry."

"I know." Draco turned away, putting his hand on the staircase as his voice grew softer. "I don't usually."

_Usually? _Harry's hand trembled. The whole house seemed to shake with it—surely he wasn't doing that? "Draco, stop it! I said I was sorry."

"What is there to be sorry for?" Draco whirled around, his eyes red with tears. "You were right! I killed someone! It's not the first time!"

"_Merlin_…" Harry felt like throwing up. The Draco he knew— the versions of Draco he knew—none of them were killers. Not the sarcastic janitor, not the teenage bully, not the frightened child. That left two options. For some unfathomable reason, Draco was lying.

Or this wasn't Draco.

Time to put that theory to the test. "What do you mean, it's not the first time?"

Draco lifted his chin defiantly, wiping a tear off his nose. "I killed five people in my bedroom."

If someone was impersonating Draco, they hadn't done their research. "You couldn't have. It would have come out in your trial."

"Not if it happened after my trial."

Harry slammed his fist into the wall, smashing a hole in whatever portrait had the misfortune to hang there. A nun. A headless nun, now. "You didn't kill five people in your bedroom."

"Five people after my trial," Draco corrected. "Before… at least twenty."

Twenty-five people. Merlin. "Veritaserum says otherwise."

"Then the Veritaserum is lying," Draco said. "I know what I did. I even _Finite_'d my wand afterwards to make sure." A calm hysteria bled back into his voice. "I cast the curse. I killed twenty-five people."

Harry folded his arms, deciding to play along. Maybe by pretending to cooperate, he'd figure out what was wrong. "Fine. Who did you kill?"

Draco seemed confused. "Twenty-five people."

"Not how many, who?" _An inability to remember details—could be signs of a Confoundus, or even the Imperius…_

"Why would I bother learning the names of a bunch of Mudbloods?"

In all the months Draco had been there, he had never used that word. Resorting to it now wasn't an instinct. It was a deliberate choice. Or a poor impersonation. His mind flashed to George. Could he have tampered with Draco's mind? Even after their conversation yesterday, Harry couldn't rule it out.

"So they were all _Muggle-borns_?" Harry emphasized the word, unintentionally making it sound like the filthiest thing in the world.

"Muggle-borns, Death Eaters, it doesn't matter. They're dead. I killed them."

"Why?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. He furrowed his eyebrows, betraying his consternation. Harry repeated his question. That seemed to send Draco over the edge. For the first time since his confession, he moved forward, fire in his eyes. "I'm a Death Eater! What did you expect?"

Cutting his interrogation short, Harry summoned Draco's wand and in the same motion handcuffed the Slytherin to the staircase. Unlike that afternoon, Draco didn't make any move to resist.

"Did you really think I would fall for that?" Harry pointed his wand at the blond. "Tell me who you really are."

Draco glowered at him. "Do I need to spell it out for you? I. Am. A. Murderer."

"So I heard the first three times. Who are you? And what did you do to Draco?"

Draco stared at him incredulously. "What did I— I'm right here, you moron!"

"Sure." Harry glanced at his watch. "Any minute now, that Polyjuice is going to wear off, and you are going to wish you were never born."

Two hours later, Draco was still chained to staircase in front of him, looking bored. "You're right," he said. "I do wish I was never born."

Harry let out a roar of frustration. The Slytherin had passed every test Harry had thrown at him. He'd answered questions only Draco would know the answer to. He'd produced the right magical signature. Harry had even brought Toothless down to smell the blond, hoping the beast would sense something out of place. The Crup had licked Draco's face (much to Draco's displeasure), then promptly thrown up on him (which was a considerable improvement what the Animal Artist had initially trained him to do). Put simply, the person sitting in front of him was indeed Draco Malfoy.

Moreover, Draco wasn't enchanted in any way Harry could discern. Other than his stubborn insistence that he was a mass murderer, Draco displayed no signs of having been possessed or having had his memory tampered with. When Harry administered Veritaserum to him, he answered the test questions perfectly, then confessed to murdering twenty-five people in his bedroom. Harry accused him of contaminating the Veritaserum supply. Draco accused him of being a stupid scar-faced Gryffindor.

Harry tried to entertain other possibilities, but the truth was, they had reached a terrifying impasse. He couldn't believe Draco. But he couldn't not believe him either.

"I have a pensive," Harry said at last. He was sitting against the wall a safe distance away from Draco, who hadn't stopped staring at him for the past hour. "Show me the memories, and I'll believe you." He didn't know if he was lying or not.

He was almost relieved when Draco refused. At least, as relieved as he could be when his lover had just admitted to being a mass murderer, and he couldn't entirely disprove it.

"Where are you going?" Draco called as Harry grabbed his coat off the rack.

"Gathering evidence."

"For the prosecution or the defense?"

Harry paused at the doorway to answer honestly, "I don't know."

Draco knew better than to complain about being left chained to the staircase. If what he said was true, then it was the most comfortable he'd be for a long, long time.

~D~H~

Veritaserum (taken with a dose of explosive gas tonic) confirmed George's innocence in the matter. Harry added the elusive Animal Artist to his list of suspects, but considering that could be a pseudonym for any one of them, it was hardly progress. The sun rose over the sleepless night, leaving Harry no better than where he'd began. Wondering if he had been dating a murderer all along.

"Harry?"

He looked up to find Brian hovering over him, two cups of coffee in hand.

"Is everything okay?" Brian asked.

Seeing the concern in the intern's eyes, Harry stopped himself from saying yes. Deep in thought, he tapped his quill against the table. "You want to make it up to Draco Malfoy?" Brian nodded. Harry summoned an extra chair. "Here's your chance."

Ron was surprised to find Harry hunched over a stack of files when he came into the office that morning. "You're here early."

Harry gave a noncommittal grunt.

"I didn't see Malfoy today," Ron continued jovially.

The file Harry was currently reading burst into flames, making Ron jump. Harry was slow to douse it with his wand. "Wonderful," he replied, picking up the next file. "Why don't you go get us some coffee?"

Oblivious to the exasperation in Harry's voice, Ron peeked over his shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing," Harry snapped.

Ignoring Harry's warning, Ron sifted through the stack. "Cold cases? Did something raise a red flag?"

"No. I'm just going off a hunch."

"Okay." Ron waited.

"So it's nothing you need to waste your time with," Harry said, stretching out the words in the hopes that Ron would finally take the hint and leave him alone.

"Since when has helping you been a waste of my time?" Ron sat beside him. "Seriously, what's wrong? And if you say nothing, I'm getting Hermione."

Harry groaned. At eight months pregnant, Hermione was supposed to be confined to non-stressful deskwork. As such, she was currently re-writing three controversial statutes. Harry did not want to be responsible for sending her into labor early. "I appreciate the offer, but it's something I need to deal with on my own."

"You've been doing a lot of that lately," Ron said, folding his arms. "You've been awfully close-lipped these past few months. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Don't you have more important things to worry about? Like your pregnant wife?"

"Hey! Don't think I haven't noticed that either. Just because you're one of the few people who actually listens to that stuff doesn't mean I'm an idiot." Ron wheeled his way next to Harry. "So. What's eating you?"

Harry sighed. If it were Hermione, he might have confided in her. But this was Ron. As well-intentioned as he was, Harry could not count on him to be unbiased in this case. Hell, Ron would probably go running straight to Robards—or worse, Kingsley—as soon as the words "Draco Malfoy" and "murder" fell from his lips, much less "boyfriend." "I— Last night, someone—a friend of mine—sort of— told me they'd murdered someone. Multiple someones."

At the last part, Ron sat up straight. "Do we have them in custody? I know we're not supposed to investigate cases we have personal ties to, but if we pull a few strings, we could make sure that I'm the one interrogating—"

Harry interrupted his friend before he could concoct an elaborate plan. "He's not in custody."

"He got away? Is there a manhunt underway? How come I didn't know about this?"

"He didn't get away, per se. I sort of, er, have him, uh, handcuffed to my staircase."

It took Ron a good thirty seconds to regain his voice. "I'm sorry. You have him handcuffed to your _staircase_?" Wincing, Harry nodded. "He confessed to murder, and you didn't bring him in?"

"I know, I'm breaking a million protocols doing this, but it's an unusual situation. He can't escape," he added before Ron could completely explode.

Unsatisfied, Ron folded his arms. "Define unusual."

Harry spread the files across his desk. "First, there aren't enough missing persons or unsolved murders that fit the parameters. One or two could have slipped through our grasp, but we would have noticed if twenty-five—"

"TWENTY-FIVE?"

"Shhhh!" Harry cast a quick silencing spell over their office. "Yes, I told you, it's unusual."

"Someone killed twenty-five people, and you didn't think it was fit to bring him in? Yes, I would say that's unusual."

When Ron phrased it like that, it did sound rather stupid. Harry felt his cheeks heat up. "There's more. I know exactly where and when one of the bodies was dumped. Only there's no body and no missing people." Harry had triple-checked the crime scene from yesterday. Draco had been in custody the entire time their men had swept the scene yesterday. He couldn't possibly have moved the corpse from the dumpster. Yet they had found nothing.

"Then he's messing with you," Ron said. "Giving you false information to make him seem innocent."

Harry shook his head. "I'm positive he didn't murder anyone." At least, in front of Ron, he had to be. "And bringing him in at all would completely ruin his reputation. Something else is going on."

Ron gave him a skeptical glance. "I'll admit, that does sound strange. But if he is innocent, then bringing him in might be the only way to prove it. If he's been enchanted or something, our teams will uncover it."

"Remember when Sirius was sent to Azkaban without a trial?"

"Come on, Harry, that was a completely different administration!"

"Not so different." While no one would send Draco to Azkaban without a trial, he certainly wouldn't get a very good one. Naturally, Harry would be banned from working on the case, and Draco's confession would ease the consciences of anyone who had ever wished he'd ended up like his father. No one would bother searching for complicated conspiracy theories when what they wanted was right in front of them.

But how to show Ron that? An anecdote floated to Harry's mind. "When I was researching finger-printing, I came across a story about a woman in America. The federal government wanted to take her children away because DNA evidence—er, think magical signature— showed that they were not her biological children. Her doctor testified that he had watched the children being born. A government agent even watched the birth of her third child, but when the DNA results came back negative yet again, he still threatened to take her children away. All because DNA evidence was infallible." He scoffed at the word. In Draco's case, it would be Veritaserum. "Scientists found out later that the woman had an incredibly rare condition where she had absorbed her twin in her mother's womb, making the DNA in her uterus different than that in her blood. That one 'infallible' piece of evidence almost broke up a family, even with overwhelming evidence against it."

Ron stared at him. "When were you researching finger-printing?"

Harry buried his face in his hands. "That's not the point!"

"Maybe it should be! You haven't told me anything the past few months! And now you want me to go along with this? Without even telling me the whole story?"

"I'm sorry."

"Damn right you are!" Ron let out a deep breath. "This… someone— is it someone I know?"

Harry swallowed. "No."

It was true. Ron didn't know Draco. He knew Malfoy, but he didn't know Draco.

Ron sighed. "I'm not going to lie if anyone asks me about this. And if you haven't found anything by tomorrow, you're bringing him in. Or I'll break into your house and do it for you."

Harry nodded. "If I find anything at all, I'll let you know. It's just, the more I research, the more impossibilities I run into. At this point, the only thing I have against him is his own word. Which I clearly can't trust."

Ron didn't look too pleased by this agreement, but he stayed silent. Harry made a mental note to offer unlimited babysitting services when Hermione finally gave birth. He truly did have remarkable friends.

~D~H~

Ron didn't bother inviting Harry to partake in their usual tradition of Waffle Wednesday. Just in case Harry didn't feel sufficiently snubbed, he made a show of asking Brian to dine with him, whispering loudly about "taking him under his wing." To Brian's credit, he declined, making the briefest of eye contact with Harry, or maybe the Order of Merlin framed on his desk.

Harry was left to enjoy Stale Cracker Wednesday as he poured over case after case, filling in the details in his head: Draco with the candlestick in the ballroom, Draco with the lead pipe in the parlor, Draco, Draco, Draco…

"Auror Potter."

Of all people, Harry did not expect to see Blaise Zabini, standing in the doorframe.

"My client informed me I might be needed," the lawyer said, shutting the door behind him.

There was no need to ask which client that was. "Did you know anything about—" Lost for words, Harry gestured at the heap of files. "—this?"

"Client-attorney privilege," Zabini replied ambiguously. He took a seat at Ron's desk and crossed his legs. "I'm only here to remind you that, as someone who is currently intimate with my client, you have no business investigating this case."

"You didn't believe me last time either, but this isn't about business."

"Then you don't deny being intimate with him?"

Harry groaned. "I hate Slytherins."

"I have evidence to the contrary," Zabini said, although his smirk ruined the professional tone. "Took you long enough. I was getting tempted to actually do what you accused me of and send a certain note his way."

Harry snorted, thinking of the "blackmail" he'd given to Zabini months ago. "Apparently, Veritas paper doesn't work."

"You didn't think you were falling in love with him?" Zabini was mocking him. "Perhaps because you were already in love with him?"

"I'm not talking about that," Harry said. Which, he realized too late, wasn't a denial. "I'm talking about this." He held up Draco's confession from yesterday, in which he denied the woman's accusations. "If this is true, then everything he told me under Veritaserum is a lie. Which can't be true. Conclusion: Veritas paper doesn't work."

"Do you believe it's true?" For once, Zabini didn't sound like he was in the middle of a prosecution that he had orchestrated down to the second. Harry suspected this was as sincere as the Slytherin got.

"I don't know. I haven't found any evidence that it's true. But why would Draco lie to me—if he even could?"

"Oh, good," Zabini said, back to his normal superciliousness. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk you down to this point. I have an appointment at two that I really must keep."

The way he lingered over the word "appointment" convinced Harry that said arrangement had nothing to do with the legal branch—the exact opposite, most likely. Did his friend mean nothing to him? "I'm not looking for reasonable doubt. I need to know!"

Zabini removed a nail file from his pocket and began scraping. "I'm not sure even Draco knows."

Harry had to restrain himself from shoving a bottle of Veritaserum down the man's throat and demanding answers. Patience was always the best policy in these situations. Besides, he was used to catering one Slytherin's ego; what would one more matter? "But you do?"

The grinding slowed to a halt as Zabini looked up from his nails and gave Harry a short nod. "I think so."

Harry waited.

"Just so you know, I charge…"

"Fine," Harry interrupted. Zabini looked amused. "Yes. I know. You could charge me a million galleons an hour. But you won't."

"It would be like stealing candy from a Hufflepuff." Zabini settled back in his chair. "About five years ago, the first time Draco— the first time _it_ happened after the war, Draco called on me. It was the night of his father's execution. I doubt he'd have called me otherwise."

Harry nodded. Watching his own mother die had been traumatic as a one year old. He couldn't imagine how it would have affected him as a young adult, especially with the stigma of execution.

"He wasn't particularly coherent about what he'd done," Zabini continued. "The way I understood, there was some intruder, and instead of subduing him like a rational person, he went and used the Killing Curse." Zabini shook his head. "It could have been self-defense. I couldn't tell. Certainly, he could have pled insanity, with the trauma, but…" For the first time, traces of defeat shadowed Zabini's face. "They'd just executed his father. Can you guarantee he wouldn't have been next?"

Harry's heart sank. "Then… you saw the body?"

"No. He'd already disposed of it. But…" Zabini studied him carefully. "We're off the record, right?" Harry nodded. "I used the Imperius. I made him tell me where the body was. After all—" Zabini shot him a meaningful glance. "—he didn't seem to be in any mindset to properly dispose of a corpse."

So that was why Zabini wanted this off the record. Not because he'd used an Unforgiveable Curse, but because he'd used it with the intent to cover up a murder. Harry found he didn't care a whit. "Did you find it?"

Zabini looked uneasy. "This is where it gets weird. I went exactly where he told me and found the freshly dug hole. But when I dug it up, there wasn't a body."

"Could you have missed it?"

Zabini shot him a dirty look that made Harry remember exactly how many fathers Zabini had had in his lifetime. If there was one thing he was familiar with, it was dead bodies. "I found the tarp he used to wrap around the corpse. But it hadn't been used. I'm sure of it. He buried an empty tarp."

That didn't make sense. "Could someone have stolen the body?"

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Theoretically, a hippogriff could have swung down from the sky and plucked it out of the ground."

"But that's not what you think happened," Harry concluded.

Zabini didn't bother nodding. "What's more, the murders always happen at night."

"This last one didn't," Harry pointed out.

"He doesn't sleep at night anymore, does he?"

The weight of Zabini's argument hit him. "So you're saying…"

Zabini nodded. "Nightmares."

Harry's breath caught in his chest. Nightmares. It seemed impossible that something as simple as a dream could cause Draco so much trouble. Yet the facts fit. Harry had seen the scope of Draco's nightmares firsthand. Often, the blonde did forget when and where he was, crippled by disorienting fits. It took lots of coaxing from Harry to get him to believe that the nightmares weren't real or, if they had been, that they had happened years ago.

Moreover, that explained how Draco could get past the Veritaserum. If he truly believed he had committed the murders, the potion would let him say yes. If he was too afraid to admit to the crimes, as he had been during the trial, the potion would let him say no.

It wasn't absolute proof. Draco could be unthinkably talented at choosing victims beyond the Ministry's radar, and Zabini could be feeding him a tall tale to protect his friend. Harry chose to believe otherwise.

He chose not to believe Draco but to believe _in_ Draco.

Harry glanced up at Zabini, who was staring at him with a smirk in his eyes. "How much did you say you charged an hour?"

~D~H~

He left a note on Ron's desk clearing up the matter of the "mystery murderer." He'd told the truth for the most part—that the alleged murderer was really just an active sleepwalker, that there was a witness to back up these facts, that Harry would never again ask his friend to cover for him like that. He'd also left a drawer full of red vines with a post-it, "For father-daughter bonding."

Call it a post-baby shower present. Not bribery. Just like the coffee he brought for Draco wasn't bribery. As he approached, Draco pretended to be engrossed in a fashion magazine Kreacher had fetched for him. "I brought you coffee."

Draco didn't look up from his page. "I normally take it without the Veritaserum."

Harry took a sip out of it, then held it out for him. "I know what you're like when you haven't had coffee all day. Drink."

Flipping the page, Draco jingled the handcuffs against the railing, as if to say, _My hands are full_. Responding to his problem, Harry grabbed the magazine and threw it over his shoulder. "There. Now you can reach."

Reluctantly, Draco took a small sip. Harry waited until he swallowed to speak. "Don't you think it's strange that the Ministry hadn't picked up on this before? Twenty-five murders. No wonder you think we're incompetent."

Fittingly, Draco chose to give him the _My Peacocks Are More Competent Than You _glare. "You left me handcuffed to a staircase with my tool kit within reach. Would you prefer I call you stupid?"

"You didn't run," Harry pointed out.

"I packed my suitcase five times."

"And yet you're still handcuffed to the staircase."

Draco shrugged. "I guess I'm a little stupid too." A mixture of mortification and relief crossed his face as he realized what he'd just admitted.

Harry smiled and sat down next to the blond. "Draco, did you murder twenty-five people?" Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Harry interrupted him. "By the way, I want you to say no."

Draco frowned. "But…"

"Humor me."

His tone was anything but humorous. Draco searched his expression for any sign of a trap. Finding none, he answered in a flat voice, "No."

"Say 'I have never murdered anyone.'"

"I have never murdered—this is ridiculous!" When Harry didn't wilt under his gaze, Draco sighed. "Fine. I have never murdered anyone."

"Good." Harry removed the handcuffs.

Draco stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "_That _was all it took? How are there any prisoners in Azkaban?"

"You were right," Harry replied, tossing the handcuffs aside. "The coffee was laced with Veritaserum."

It took Draco a moment to realize the implications. "That can't be true."

"What's the name of the song you sing in the shower when you think I'm asleep?"

"Danke Schoen." Draco immediately flushed. "But… I… _you weren't asleep?_"

Harry certainly wasn't going to admit that the first time he'd heard it, he'd thought a girl had broken into his house. "The point is, you're innocent. If you'd killed anyone, you wouldn't be able to deny it."

"I killed people," Draco said. "If I'm innocent, how can I say that?"

"You know how Veritaserum works. It's a mind game. It only lets you speak the truth. Or what you believe is the truth." He met Draco's eyes. "That's why you can say both."

"So you're saying—what, I hallucinated it all?"

"Not exactly." Quickly, Harry explained Zabini's nightmare theory. As he predicted, Draco didn't take it too well.

"You've seen my nightmares. Do they look like that to you?"

"It doesn't matter what they look like to me. It's what they look like for you."

Draco shook his head. "They can't have been nightmares. I wasn't asleep." Even so, weariness had seeped into his tone as his mind latched onto the idea. There wasn't so much an internal battle as an armistice, a conditional surrender, a lie to set him free.

Harry wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. "Just because they were nightmares doesn't mean that I forgive you. You still lied to me. You should have told me earlier."

"When was earlier? The first time we kissed? The first time we had dinner?" Harry inhaled sharply, remembering vague snippets that suddenly took on a new meaning. Draco gave him a pointed stare. "Remember that? You didn't believe me then either."

"You didn't tell me the full story."

"What if I had?" The stoniness in his tone told Harry this wasn't the first time Draco had asked himself this question. He could have asked it a million times and come up with a different, equally possible answer for each. Not many of them were good.

_A calculated coward_. That's what he had called himself days ago. Draco wore the title better. He rarely acted in malice. Fear or selfishness motivated his heart. That was his mistake: acting with his heart over his brain. Harry had made the same mistake in trusting Draco.

A mistake he was bound to repeat. "I don't know." He let out the breath he'd unintentionally bunched in his chest. "I don't know if I want to."

"I don't either," Draco said. "But I wish I did."

They stared at each other for a long time, lost in imaginary worlds where Draco had come clean earlier, where Harry had rallied the Wizengamot in his defense, where he had kissed him in front of the stand as the jury delivered a Not Guilty verdict. Where Draco had packed that suitcase a sixth time, dropped a letter on the porch, and ran off to Nice, or Palo Alto, or Antarctica. Where Draco had ended up in the same cell his father had occupied years earlier and Harry ended up in an empty bed. Harry couldn't say which of them had it worse.

"I really did dump bodies," Draco said softly.

Harry put his hand over Draco's. "Draco…"

"During the war, I mean. Once _he _was through with them." Draco shuddered. "Once, he came with me. Made me do things. Cut a skull on the arm. Piss on the body." He swallowed back tears. "It made me vomit. But he thought that was just part of the act." Draco clenched his teeth. But his mouth refused to remain shut. "The boy. He was twelve. Twelve, Harry…"

Draco looked up to find tears flowing from Harry's eyes. Harry didn't know when they had started. Only then did the blond stop fighting his own, burying his face in Harry's robes. Harry didn't know how long they sat there, sobbing over a nameless boy who had been dead for years. It was this boy, Harry realized, that Draco had been thinking of when he had spared Brian. One good deed, fueled by an incomprehensible evil.

The mutilated peacock was nothing compared to the truth. Yes, Voldemort had been breathing down his neck then, but he wasn't now. Draco had sincerely thought he'd killed five people, yet he hadn't turned himself in.

The crying made his head hurt. Harry cleared his throat. "I really hate to say this, but do you think we should get some rest?"

Draco shrugged and joked without smiling, "Worst case scenario, someone ends up dead."

Harry refused to read the unspoken words behind Draco's eyes: _Maybe it will be you. _"On second thought." He tossed Draco a blanket. "Ever camped out in the backyard?"

* * *

**Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! (And to NobleAndAncientLineBlack ( for inspiring that last scene.)**


End file.
